


Between Two Hands

by SolitaryEngel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, But not in a good way, Dub-con body modification, Enthusiastic Rimming, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face-Sitting, Good Tom Riddle, Infidelity, Light exhibitionism kink, Likely to Trigger Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Tags Are Out Of Order Sorry, Terrified Consent, Virginity Kink, just the tip of just the tip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-07-31 14:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 75,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20116351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolitaryEngel/pseuds/SolitaryEngel
Summary: Three weeks after meeting Tom at Draco's Yule party Harry manages to escape from the infuriating man again. Cheating on Draco had been a mistake. A *colossal* mistake he can never take back, only hide... but with Draco displaying weird behavior and an urgent case landing in Harry's lap... staying away from the alluring Head of International Magical Cooperation is going to be much harder than he thought.Complete, posting 3x a week





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [As the French Do](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17853260) by [exarite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exarite/pseuds/exarite). 
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the tags and be good to yourselves, folks. Non-con and dyphoria trigger tags will be announced at the top of the respective chapters.
> 
> This fic is a fanfiction of the sexy work of fanfiction *art:* "As The French Do" by exarite and will pick up where that fic (and the extra snippet in the comments) left off, taking everything in it as canon. (The only exception is that the Yule party is hosted by *Draco* for his coworkers, not by his *company* and that he works for the Ministry.)
> 
> This fic is completed at 80k words and will be posted 3x a week until all 19 chapters are up. I'll be honest, it's a bit of a weird ride; I hope you enjoy it!

# 

# Chapter One

* * *

* * *

“Well, _ I _ heard he cheated,” a nasally voice confided nearby.

Harry’s ears twitched, his attention caught.

“With a _ half-blood_!” the voice continued, its owner scandalized.

“_No_,” a sweet, girlish voice gasped theatrically. “How… ugh. It’s just so…”

“I _ know_,” sympathized the first speaker.

“What about the children?” the younger-sounding voice asked then, voice declaring loudly her exaggerated concern. Harry pinpointed who was speaking then, and the cutesy voice matched the upper-teens, pink-swathed girl’s appearance to a T. He calmed once the bit about children hit his brain. They couldn’t possibly be gossiping about him. Besides, Harry thought Tom might be a pureblood... he had the cheekbones for it, anyway.

He turned away from the other woman’s continuing lamentations about the stain of the impure blood on the cheater’s family: _ ‘what if the witch had fallen _ pregnant_?! The horror of it!’ _ and tried to find a quieter area to be grumpy in.

The success of the Yule gathering had made Draco _ energetic_. Not three weeks later and there Harry was at another party his boyfriend had started planning the moment the other one had ended. This time it was _ supposed _ to be a smaller number with only two or three of his coworkers and a greater amount of 'old family friends,' but to Harry’s perspective… the ballroom floor seemed even more suffocating than ever. Harry knew each of those _ old families _ were — by his own definition — rich, uptight Purebloods that Draco was keen to butter up, and he felt even less obligated than usual to chat up the swarm of strangers.

Feeling the assessing stares cling to his every action and movement, he retreated from the false smiles and clouds of perfume back up to the same balcony of last time, knowing from Draco's excessive posturing that he was only inviting people he _ respected_, and Harry knew from long, boring experience that Tom had never been one of those people. 

With that in mind, he even felt safe enough to wander back to the exact section of the railing Tom had fucked him into, and miserable enough from that night (and the night before, and the night before, and the night befo—) to skim his fingers over the surface that his chest had limply rocked against as his body had used for the man-who-was-not-his-boyfriend's pleasure and completion.

He felt safe and alone (and forgotten by Draco,) so of _ course _ Tom Riddle would find him there.

"No," Harry stated at first glimpse of the man. "Absolutely not. Have some fucking decency! Not _ tonight_."

Tom paused his approach, tilting his head in apparent curiosity, his perfectly arranged hair falling just as _ fucking _ perfectly towards his temple.

"This again?" he inquired, tone deceptively mild. Then, more thoughtfully, "'Not_ tonight_,' hmm?"

He crossed over to the balcony railing, his undoubtedly-expensive leather shoes making a strong, powerful sound against the flagstones as he politely circumvented Harry’s personal bubble to seat himself up on the ledge a meter away.

Harry eyed the ledge and then the extreme drop to the ground floor where Draco's fancy peers chatted and ate. He was struck with the strange, intense ambivalence between whether to push the man off the railing to his doom or yank him back to safety. In the end, the desire not to go to Azkaban was just a hair stronger.

“Isn’t that a bit risky?” Harry said skeptically. “It wouldn’t be good for the aristocracy to see you tumble to your death.”

“Concerned for me? I’m touched,” Tom mused, looking down at the gardens directly beneath him and then back up, his eyes glittering up at Harry from his bowed head. Then, the dark, unsettling light faded from his expression and he swirled his wand at his arse. "Sticking Charm, for your comfort."

Harry gritted his teeth at the lazy,_ conciliatory _ way the other man had spoken, as of to calm some great, _ mistaken _ fear in Harry that harm might come to the man.

"You misunderstood me," he said, teeth bared, "I didn't want the temptation to toss you off."

Tom's unique eyes widened fractionally, before a surprisingly genuine smile spread across his face. "Oh dear," he murmured, the intimate sound carrying across the distance with ease, "no, we certainly wouldn't want you to '_toss me off_.'"

Harry gripped the railing until he was sure the stone would leave reddened imprints on his palms. "Don't twist my words."

"Not tonight, right?" Tom asked casually as he reclined back on his hand. His charcoal robes parted with the motion, revealing a shiny silk waistcoat that was tailored to hug his trim waist with expensive precision. Harry dragged his eyes away from the evidence of a fit body underneath the gleaming fabric and eyed the railing again, judging how stable the man's balance was likely to be. It really _ was _ a precarious position, if not for the Charm. He'd hate to have to fill out the paperwork required for the death of the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation on his anniversary.

"Then, how about next Thursday, at seven?" Tom continued in a smooth voice, his eyes still tracking the sway of Harry's attention over his body.

"Fuck off," Harry grunted, turning his head away. Down below, the glowing blonde head of his boyfriend bobbed with unheard laughter as he curried favor with some, and — Harry was sure — subtly reminded most of the rest in attendance of a yet unpaid favor _ they _ owed _ him_. These types of things — parties and gatherings — were important to Draco in a way that Harry could never understand, just as the unwilling solitude at such events being a _ fucking rusty nail _ under Harry's skin was something he could never bludgeon into the Slytherin's thick skull. 

_ Lovingly_, of course. 

From above he could see that this one _ was _ a smaller gathering than last month's Yule celebration, though the guests were far more insufferable — present company included.

"Why 'not _ tonight_?'" Tom asked suddenly, breaking through both the extended silence and Harry's growing (and surely false) sense of security.

“Fuck off,” Harry said again, but his tone was becoming weary and he knew with a surge of irritation that there was no way the lack of conviction had escaped Tom’s notice. “I’m not a toy,” he added, sending a sharp glance Tom's way, “and my relationship isn’t a puzzle for you to break. Find someone else to fuck with.”

Far from being deterred, Tom’s eyes flashed with something strong (it could only be anger or some fit of arrogant pique, Harry thought, trying to dissuade himself from the corresponding pulse of _ want _ in his trousers at the sight of it) and his gaze turned down to join Harry’s on Draco.

“I know a couple reasons why ‘not tonight,’” Tom said breezily, as if mentioning relationship flaws between his employee and the partner who’d cheated on him — _ with him _— was of absolutely no consequence. “I’d rather hear from you which one it is.”

Guilt pressed in on Harry as he watched his boyfriend (who’d moved on to the refreshments table) look around, presumably for him. His fingers squeezed on the railing again, waiting for the moment those eyes would glance up and see his boss perched too casually within chatting distance to his lover, whose own stance was haunted, guarded.

Then Draco’s face lit up as if he’d found — well, _ Harry _ — and he hot-footed it across the crowd to a tall blonde woman they knew from school and her smaller, brown-haired clone that Harry hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting before. Harry’s fingers tightened again and this time he wondered if this time the _ stone _ was the one that would be left with an imprint.

“Astoria Greengrass,” Tom’s voice murmured, so unexpectedly close to Harry that he flinched. It seemed as if he'd dispelled the Sticking Charm to stand on the floor like a normal person while Harry had been distracted.

“I knew Daphne from school,” Harry said shortly, not acknowledging the younger girl as a snide acknowledgement of Tom’s own refusal to mention her big sister. He watched the interaction play out mutely, Draco gallant and grandiose in his movements to a performer’s degree. Harry couldn’t help but smile at the obvious enjoyment his partner had when engaging in the same kind of social niceties that made Harry want to tear out his hair and scream.

“It’s a risk, bringing her to see him at a _ public _ event,” Tom said abruptly, though Harry expected the interruption to his calm this time and hardly noticed — until the words sank in.

“Are you really going to make me say 'fuck off' again?” he said tiredly. "I'm starting to feel like _ I'm _ the asshole, saying it so often."

There was no hint of impropriety in Draco or the other two Slytherin’s body language _ or _ expressions, and the people nearby showed no hint of intrigue or scandal as their eyes flitted over the talking trio. Tom's words gave him pause, of course they did… but only because _ he himself _ was the cheater. 

He’d wasted no time the day after the incident to sneak into Muggle London and use a library computer to look up ‘should I tell my boyfriend I’ve cheated?’ and then subsequently ‘how to hide adultery,’ and he knew from that search that any suspicion he had towards Draco’s fidelity was to be expected, and _quashed._ _Harry_ was the cheater. That he didn’t want to live with the guilt and therefore would subconsciously push it onto Draco was normal, but nevertheless still a selfish crime on top of the one he’d already committed.

He was determined. There would be _ no more _ crimes.

Tom lounged against the railing by his side, deceptively lazy — Harry could see at least a dozen points of tension across his extended frame that belied his nonchalance — as the man turned so that his back and elbows were against the rail and his head tipped back to view the stars.

“Why not tonight?” he persisted. “I want to know if it’s one of the reasons I suspect, or a completely new one, you see.”

“I know you’re trying to get into my head, and it wont work,” Harry said, turning his head to pin Tom with his glare.

But Tom wasn’t looking back at him, only at the sky, and Harry’s traitorous eyes traced the long line of his throat with its strong Adam's apple and then the darkened shadow where his jaw jutted, sculpted perfection, out from his neck, and the enviable straight line of the bridge of his nose. Then Tom’s head lazily tilted his way, and it was so natural for their eyes to meet, and for a horribly familiar heat to rise, _ unwanted_, in his pelvis, expanding throughout until it could seize him by the throat and choke him.

“Why would I _ try_, when I’m already there?” Tom asked, voice as soft and cajoling as it had been when asking Harry to kiss as a goodbye, _ 'as the French do.'_

Lust curled through his middle, licking away at his reasoning, his rationality.

Harry clenched his fist, knuckles scraping painfully against the stone as Tom’s hand came up to linger over his cheekbone, then outlining his jaw as if the shape of Harry’s intrigued him as much as Tom’s had Harry just seconds earlier. His breath hitched as his blood pounded, and he remained stuck, mind screaming _ ‘pull away, no... don’t miss it, pull away, no... don’t miss it,’ _ until all he could do was puff air shallowly over Tom’s incoming mouth.

“Why not tonight?” Tom coaxed, cradling his face with a light, gentle touch that honestly _ startled _ Harry, given the increasingly unflattering conclusions he’d come to about Tom since the last time they were on this balcony together.

Harry’s eyes squeezed shut, _ needing _ an exact replay of that night with every fiber of his being. However, paradoxically, Tom’s question, which had been intended to lure, gave him the strength to finally pull away, their lips never having touched at all.

“It’s our anniversary,” he said bitterly, once he’d caught his breath enough to do so.

“It is?”

Harry felt an absurd mix of both victory and crushing defeat over the genuine note of incredulity in the man’s voice. Deciding he'd had enough torture for one night, he walked away without saying anything else. Surely Tom would not lack for entertainment without him. Exiting through the French doors, he headed back inside, leaving the protection of whatever spells Tom had undoubtedly cast in mistaken anticipation of getting into Harry’s pants again.

The origin of his victory was easy to place: he’d gotten one over on Tom, known something the overconfident thorn-in-his-side hadn't.

The dismay… also easily placed. Draco hadn’t told anyone their anniversary was this week. 

_ ‘Maybe that is fine,’ _ he thought, as he trod down the stairs at a pace much less hurried than during his escape three weeks ago. _ ‘It’s not like I know the anniversaries of everyone I meet.’ _ But swiftly, the counterpoint came to mind that it _ was _ shared around _ his _ Office. Fellow Aurors mentioned offhandedly taking their spouse or girlfriend out or planning a special night of romance due to certain milestones and received the back-slaps and teasing with proud, embarrassed smiles.

Hell, Harry had worn one just like theirs that day at lunch, to the ribbing and congratulations of his tablemates. Robards, his own boss, had warned him as he left for the day not to celebrate too much in case there was an emergency over the weekend, and he hadn’t even _ been _ at their table when it was brought up. _ No one _ at that gathering, Tom included, could have inferred by how Draco was treating Harry that the party was on something of a special day for them.

When something was important, it just came out. You couldn’t stop it. 

_ 'At least _ I _ can't,' _ he relented, looking around the gardens for the third time since he'd noticed Draco hadn’t been where he’d last spotted him from the balcony. Draco was in many ways different, this — not marking special milestones — must just be another one.

Seriously, _where was_ _Draco_? For all his disapproval when Harry wasn’t in a place Draco expected him to be, _he_ surely wasn’t making _himself_ easy to find now. With a sense of deliberately making a huge mistake, he lifted his gaze up to the balcony to see Tom’s sharp gaze already on him.

Harry gasped quietly at all the look conveyed. _ How_, at such a great distance, could the man make him feel a jolt of arousal so strong that it was like the man’s fingers had somehow plunged up inside him and _ tugged_? Tom’s darkened gaze didn’t let up, and Harry turned his body away before he could convince his head to follow along, feeling like the tension connecting them was tangibly ripping apart as he finally broke the stare.

“Here, I’d like you to meet someone,” he heard Draco’s voice call excitedly. He looked over, taut smile already in place for his partner, only to see him guiding the shorter Greengrass girl (her name had something to do with books, he thought; for some reason only able to recall ‘Story’ as he looked at her) to the wrinkled old fusspot that was obviously waiting for them.

His already weak smile fell.

The ‘wrinkled old fusspot’s’ name was Augustin Selwyn, the grandfather of the man Harry’d fought against as a schoolkid as a part of the Pureblood Uprising. Harry’d been on edge when Draco introduced them, and the meeting had not gone well. To that _ day _ Selwyn still hadn’t warmed to him and every conversation was a study of pretentious agony.

But the — er... _ Story _ girl seemed to have charmed him right away with a little curtsey and shy lowering of her eyes, he’d noticed. The fusty old man had taken her hand in his with a weak, grandfatherly pat on top with the other, to all appearances utterly besotted. Harry bit back the jealousy and suspicion again, surprised by their strength, and _ knew _ once more that getting swept away by Tom had been a huge mistake. The projection of his own shame onto Draco was too immediate, too strong. _ Draco had done nothing wrong. _

It was all Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! Setting the scene for the beginning of this thing.
> 
> Extremely dubious consent and gender dyphoria warnings for the next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early because HAHA I'm being triggered by my own writing and I want to get rid of if and start obsessing over the next one instead.
> 
> Extremely dubious consent terrified, consent, and gender dysphoria triggers ahoy. Be kind to yourselves, I used real experience to write the emotions involved in this one.
> 
> Not every chapter will be as awful as this one. Don't give up on me... there are still 17 chapters to go.

# Chapter Two

* * *

* * *

“You were gone for a while tonight,” Draco said, the smile on his face confusing the hell out of Harry. Draco _ hated _ when Harry wasn’t right where he needed him, right when he needed to be shown off. “Did you have a good time?”

“No,” he said honestly. “Did you?”

“I did,” Draco said warmly, crowding close to him even though neither of them had finished changing out of their formal wear and Harry’s shirt was still hanging on by the cufflinks because he always forgot to take them off first. “It’s the same old boring stuff for you, isn’t it? But it means so much to me. Thank you for letting me be myself tonight, of all nights.”

Harry’s heart caught in his chest at the genuine gratefulness in Draco’s voice as he pressed his forehead to Harry’s, his eyes already closed as if with great emotion. Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s sweetly, searching out Harry’s response as if it was the first kiss they’d ever shared, and Harry stared at his partner's closed eyelids as he returned it, bewildered by the tentativeness, slightly repelled by the taste of Draco's favorite, bitter tea on his tongue.

Draco didn't act like this. Ever. Even in the beginning of it all they’d been drawn together by anger and lust, not this gentle, fearful type of wonder. Draco was _ passionate_. He took. He liked to stare Harry down and goad him into fiery, competitive clinches and he almost _ never _ closed his eyes to kiss, preferring to see just what effect he had on his lover from start to finish.

But now Draco kissed him as if he didn’t know after all this time what Harry’s response would be, how the embrace would play out… and Harry’s insides writhed with guilt. Did he know? Had someone stumbled across Harry with Tom last time… _ told _ him tonight what they’d seen? Was he kissing Harry as if it was the last time? Or… was he softening the beach before taking revenge on his cheating lover?

“Trust me, baby,” Draco whispered into his mouth, eyes still closed as he used that specific pet name for the first time in the whole of their relationship. “I’ll make it so good for you.”

“Alright, Draco,” Harry agreed, still confused, but at least understanding that the other man was directing the kiss somewhere sexual. If Harry attempted to think with the part of his brain that wasn't quite so drenched in guilt, the sensual shift made sense. It_ was _ their anniversary, after all, and they hadn't had sex in weeks.

Draco’s eyes popped open, and the odd emotional spell within the man seemed to be broken. He nodded at Harry, then turned away to continue methodically unbuttoning his shirt. “Go apply the potion," he ordered. "I’ll finish getting undressed.”

Harry winced in foreboding anticipation. “Yeah, okay,” he said.

It was the one — well, it was one of a _ few _ sticking points in their relationship that Draco didn’t like to be the one to prepare Harry. For the first few weeks, Harry had just done it himself in the bathroom before they met up, but when they become more committed his boyfriend had found a potion recipe that solved both issues of stretching and lubrication at once. Draco had enjoyed the results so much that he’d told Harry he felt that he couldn’t go back to the old days of manual preparation and constant lube reapplication… and now, a year later, they still used it.

The problem for _ Harry_, he thought to himself as he spread the thin mixture over and into his hole with practiced fingers, was that it turned the outer portion of his anus into what looked and performed like a vagina. Under his potion-coated fingers Harry’s hole slackened and elongated, flat, fleshy labia growing on either side of his colon, which would be acting as the vagina’s canal. He was repulsed by the feel of the thing, but usually the promise of hot, competitive sex with Draco more than made up for the disgust of touching — _ having _ — lady parts. He didn't know what he was going to do tonight with Draco's off-brand... _ delicacy_.

When his new body part had stabilized, Harry washed his hands and caught sight of himself in the mirror. He almost wished he hadn’t. He was pale, his eyes a bit wide, displaying all his nerves over Draco’s strange behavior, his own culpability, and the same, old apprehension that came every time they had sex... greater now that the last time had been so good, _ normal_, with Tom. Every once in a while he got up the nerve to ask to stop using the potion, but then Draco would distract him and in the cloud of lust woven by arms and legs and kisses he'd practically _run_ to grab the potion and would forget his qualms for a little while.

He figured he was getting close to asking, again.

“You look a bit apprehensive, love,” the mirror told him kindly.

_ ‘There had been none of that with Tom,’ _ his traitorous mind supplied. What made the stray thought worse was that it was true. Sex with Draco was… well it was great, at times, but no matter how great it was there was still the —

He tensed and resolved not to think of the cons of what was to come any more. The things he’d read online said not to compare the affair with his committed relationship, and Harry hated that he’d been doing just that. Of _ course _ it had been new and exciting with Tom. It was _ forbidden_, and Tom’s desirous, commanding nature had spoken deeply to a part of Harry that just wanted _ more_.

_ ‘What did you think of my boss?’ _ Draco had asked that night. _ ‘I hope he didn’t bother you. He has a bit of a reputation for breaking people up. Can’t stand to see them happy, or something — but you always knew I thought he was a horrible human being.’ _

“You coming?” Draco asked, impatience filtering through his voice.

“Yeah,” Harry called, quickly taking his flaccidity into his hand with quick strokes so Draco didn’t realize how entirely uninterested he was, before reentering the bedroom.

Draco had extinguished all the sconces, but through with the light from the bathroom Harry could see him standing by the foot of the bed.

“Get the light in there too, won't you?” Draco asked, a note of irritation entering his voice. Harry paid _ that _ no mind; irritation and impatience were practically Draco’s only modes of address. The only _ odd _ thing was the lights being out.

“Doing something differently tonight?” Harry asked, somewhere between worried and suspicious.

“Yes. Now come on, lover,” Draco drawled. “Don’t leave me waiting.”

“_Nox_,” Harry cast towards the bathroom. Like that, and with the drapes all shut, the room was pitch black. “Wouldn’t it be easier to do a blindfolding spell?” Harry asked as he slowly felt his way into the room. Unease roiled in his belly and he kept one hand working at himself to keep from going limp, as felt totally reasonable with the current atmosphere.

“Shush, baby, lay on the bed, on your belly for me. I’ll be there in a second.”

“Draco —”

“I’ll make it so good for you, baby,” Draco whispered just as he had earlier, pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth. “Go on.”

Harry did as requested, a tight, _ familiar _ part of him worried about what would be coming at him in the dark. An oddly loving version of his boyfriend? A darkly vengeful boyfriend who’d found out his secret and was planning on taking it out of his flesh? And then Harry’s mind spun, because if Draco had involved _ others _ in his plans —

The bed dipped, and Harry’s breath caught audibly in his startlement.

“It’s me, baby,” Draco’s voice said from right where he’d expect it to be, if that was indeed Draco on the bed. Fear and guilt and shame rocketed around inside of him as he _ could not _ figure out if he was just being paranoid or not. He trusted Draco, right? Even if he’d found out, he wouldn’t _ hurt _ Harry, especially not _ sexually_… right?

Draco laid beside him, running a warm hand up and down the curve of his back to the top of his bum and then back up again.

“I brought some lube to make it easier for your first time,” Draco said softly, affectionately.

Harry flushed. “It’s not _ really _ my —”

“Shh, _ baby_,” Draco said quickly, that familiar irritation coming back for a second as he grit out that new pet name before his voice sweetened again. “I know it’ll hurt just this once… but after that it will feel so good, I promise. I’ll make it that way for you, with all my love, baby.”

Harry could _ not _ be less aroused than in that moment. His dick, trapped beneath him, had started going soft the moment he’d been forced to let go of it, and the growing fear and now... _ this_, this weird roleplay Draco was doing, had only made matters worse. They didn't love each other... not yet, and they were fine with that. (At least, Harry had thought so.) To hear Draco talk of 'love' and call him 'baby' and treat him so sweetly... it turned his blood to ice.

Draco inched over, covering Harry’s back in chaste kisses and then moving down, hands exploring his skin with reverence the entire way. He heard the air-bubble _ splurt _of a bottle of lube being turned over and then Draco’s slippery hand found its way in the dark to his transformed anus.

“You feel so perfect here, baby,” Draco groaned, taking one of his labia between two fingers and gently massaging it, before stroking up and down the length of the slit and repeating the same to the other side. “Does it feel good, my love? Do you feel me loving you with my hand?”

“Yes,” Harry lied, and left it at that. He and Draco both knew the unnatural genitalia grown by the potion had next to no feeling. Part of the inescapable allure of Tom's attentions were that it was the first time his natural assets had been touched by another in nearly a year. Still, as frozen and trapped as he felt at the moment, he’d play along forever if it meant that at the end of this he would still be in one piece. He _ hated _ that he didn’t know his own boyfriend’s intentions in that moment.

Draco hummed a bit, inserting a dry finger that burned and stung against the fresh membrane there. “You’re not very wet, my love. Are you nervous? I promise it will only hurt just this once. You have nothing to fear from me.”

Harry clenched his fists by his head and gritted his teeth, feeling more than hearing the warning implicated by those words. ‘_Wet, wet, wet, what will get this stupid thing wet?’ _ he agonized. He was as shriveled as a twig and two prunes down there and he knew his magically enhanced anus would be showing the same level of interest. He cast his mind out, trying to imagine himself anywhere but in this moment, to the early days with Draco, perhaps, but all he could think of was how many of the people who’d been downstairs earlier had been a part of the Uprising. Were any of them _ still here_? Invited by a maliciously cunning Draco… perhaps even _ in the room right then_?

He knew his paranoia was a product of his own guilty conscious, but that didn’t _ help_. What he needed was to become aroused, survive this strange bout of anniversary sex, and then pretend everything had been normal from start to finish afterwards. He didn’t want Draco to know his turmoil. He didn’t want to lose his boyfriend, who had been water in the desert for Harry last year when all his friends were getting married and having babies and he was absolutely alone.

With a forced groan that he knew Draco would take as encouragement towards his still-massaging fingers, he let his mind wander to an even more dangerous place than his current location.

_ ‘Look at your boyfriend,’ _ Tom had ordered. He’d been helpless to do anything but obey. He’d been drawn to Tom like a magnet at first sight, his presence demanding Harry's attention, his _ everything. _ If Harry had been single —

But he wasn’t, and thinking melancholy thoughts like that weren’t going to help him right now. _ ‘Think!’ _ Harry instructed himself. _ ‘He had complete control over me. It was… only right now I will admit that it _ was _ amazing — from first kiss… and then his hands… and he was so good _ inside… _ every time he pressed into me... think about needing it so much I fucked _ him _ for a few thrusts instead... think about his hand in my hair… Tom making me look at Draco while he FORCED me to come…’ _

“Oh, good baby, so good. You’re getting wet for me, aren’t you. Love you so much, going to make you feel so good.”

Draco climbed higher up the bed, moving slowly and considerately over Harry’s prone form in a way they’d _ never _ been around each other before. His hands seemed to keep finding their way back to the curve of his back and sides, especially where they dipped inwards at the middle of his waist. “It’s time, baby,” Draco whispered, voice so gentle and loving Harry _ knew _ it could only be some kind of trick. They just didn’t _ do _ that with each other.

Draco settled over him, hand still obsessively tracing the curved parts of Harry’s side and buttocks before lifting his hips up into position.

“Are you ready, baby?” Draco breathed.

“Yeah, I’m _ fine_,” Harry ground out, his instinct to survive battling with his fight-or-flight urge to _ break _something. _'It's just Draco,'_ he tried to self-soothe. _'He’s just being a little weird, but he’s not about to do something crazy like pull a knife out and stick it up your —'_

With possibly the worst timing possible, Draco began to press the round head of his cock directly into Harry’s mutated hole. Caught up in the terrible fantasy he’d just been entertaining, Harry whimpered in pain as Draco broke through the hymen that always grew in along with the rest of the vaginal parts.

“Ohh, baby, you feel so good,” Draco moaned above him, pressing in slowly but steadily, with no pauses “The pain _ will _ stop soon, I promise. I’ll make it so good for you, baby.”

Harry’s breath hitched as Draco's pelvis pressed into his buttocks, his panic intensifying for a brief moment as he realized Draco had bottomed out inside him. _ 'Get a hold of yourself,' _ his mental voice harangued himself. _ 'We have sex all the time. Or — used to. This is more of the same, grow a pair!" _

Then Draco began to move, and his long experience with Harry's body enabled him to strike Harry's prostate dead on from the very first reentry.

"Yes, baby, you feel that?" Draco praised at Harry's uncontrolled gasp. "That's me, baby. That's us. I told you the pain would be over soon… you feel so good baby, do I feel good to you too?"

"Yes," Harry grunted, pushing back the way he knew he was supposed to, trying to focus on the pleasure and not on the fact that he still had no clue what spurred on this significant change of behavior.

"Yes, baby, thank you so much for giving yourself to me. Love you so much, baby, going to take care of you forever. You make me feel so good baby, so good…"

Harry's teeth grit and his eyes burned like hellfire, but he refused to cry face down into his pillow like the deflowered virgin Draco was apparently pretending he was. Draco's thrusts sped up as he continued to mumble thanks and praise that sounded less and less like they were meant for Harry himself as time dragged on, until Draco cried out harshly into Harry's upper back and stilled.

"Wow," he said, laughing a little. "That was… did you…?"

"Yeah," Harry lied. "A minute ago."

"I'm sorry I missed it," Draco said, pulling out and rolling over. From the sound of it, he'd rolled right off the bed entirely. "I'm going to wash up a bit and if it's okay with you, some of the people I spoke to tonight gave me a few ideas I'd like to plan out in regards to work… do you mind if I head to my office and work on some of that before I forget?"

"No, that's fine," Harry said, throat tight with what felt like mourning — or remorse.

"Thanks, Harry."

_ 'And just like that, the new pet name is gone,' _ Harry thought. _ 'Fuck, I need to get out of here before I blow.' _

Part of Harry couldn't believe that Draco could have done all of that, acted so differently on their anniversary, acted like he was having sex with a virgin _ girl, _ for anything other than revenge. Now that the end of their intimacy had come and Harry was unhurt and Draco was seemingly back to normal, he was left feeling… bewildered. Uneasy. _ Choked. _

He waited to take his turn in the bathroom until after Draco left, rinsing out his loose bottom with care for its sluggishly bleeding center before putting on a fresh pair of pants and the dressing gown Draco kept spare for him to use. He left the confines of the bedroom and followed his feet, feeling like he was trying to escape from the very odd interaction that had just happened.

When he hit the ballroom, he knew where his feet were taking him. Still, though, he let them carry him though the empty room, so cavernous at night when dark and empty, up the stairs and out the towering French doors to the balcony, then turned to survey the multitude of dark windows along the side of the Manor.

Did Draco _ know _ and was just playing mind games? Or was the fantasy they'd just acted out _ really _ what Draco thought appropriate for the one year mark of their relationship? If Harry hadn't accepted Tom's advances, would he have appreciated the difference in how he'd been treated or would he still feel… feel so _ used_? So uncertain, so _ out of control_?

Harry felt the tears he’d been holding back swell, and he quickly turned back to the rail — and away from the view of the rest of the house’s windows — before pinching his eyes shut and at last letting them fall freely.

He gulped in air as they streamed down one at a time, unable to wipe them in case Draco or his mother were in any part of the Manor that had a good view of him doing so through a window. Looking down at the waist-high stone, he put first one hand down, then the other, right where his elbows had been as Tom had first entered him… that scant, teasing amount.

He shuffled his feet until they were slightly spread as they had been that night and leaned his weight onto his hands, crying bitterly and trying to hold on to something real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. That happened.
> 
> In as much as I wanted to set the scene in the last chapter, so did I with this one. Between the first chapter and this one... this is what we're working with. This is what we've got going on.
> 
> Next chapter is much better guys, and will be posted in two days, on Sunday (or Saturday, for those in the Western Hemisphere.) 👌 Stick with me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings, we good for a while 👍

# Chapter Three

* * *

* * *

"Auror Potter, my office."

Harry blinked up at the sight of Robards blocking his cubicle entrance.

"Yes, sir," he said promptly, ingrained habit supplying him with the right response even with his persistent brain fog.

"Now, if you would."

"Yes, sir."

Robards gave him a disappointed look before taking his leave, and Harry slapped his cheeks lightly to prompt more wakefulness into his brain before hurrying after him.

"Sir?" he said from his boss's office threshold.

"Come in, Potter, and shut the door."

Harry winced at the distinct lack of title next to his name, complying immediately with the request and then standing at parade rest in front of the man's intimidatingly stark desk.

"I must say I am profoundly disappointed in you, Potter."

"Sir?"

"I understand that this past weekend was one of celebration for you, but to arrive here, three _ days _ after your anniversary so obviously hungover is beyond the pale. Am I clear?"

Harry's jaw dropped, horrified by his superior's misconception. "No, sir! I mean, _ yes_, sir, but I'm not hungover! I haven't had anything other than one glass of champagne on _ Friday_!"

Robards regarded him carefully, before saying, "You'll have to forgive me, Potter… but I have to say, for not being hungover you look like dragon dung. After this meeting is done you will take yourself to the clinic for a wellness check, do you understand me?"

"Please, sir," Harry said quietly, head lowering in shame and acute embarrassment. "I just haven't been sleeping well. I'm not ill."

Robards lifted his eyebrows in frank disbelief. "If that's the case, then I will give you until_ tomorrow _ to have a complete turnaround, do you understand me?"

"Yes sir," Harry agreed.

"If you don't have any, the clinic will provide you with a Sleeping Draught. You will come in tomorrow at the top of your game or you'll march yourself right back into the clinic on my orders, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Harry moved as if to excuse himself, thinking that was the end of the meeting, when Robards stern voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Where do you think you are going, Potter?"

He resettled back into the proper stance, even more bewildered than before the first reprimand. "Sir?"

"It's not just your ragged appearance that has caught my attention this morning. You put in a request for the personnel file of Mister Thomas Marvolo Riddle Jr., along with a request into whether he has any background checks or crime reports on file."

Harry swallowed. "Yes, sir."

Robards fisted his hands atop his desk. "And were you following up on a crime report that listed Mister Riddle as either perpetrator or victim?"

Harry worked his jaw for just a moment before forcing out the honest: "No, sir."

"So_ why _ on this green Earth would you put in _ three _ separate _ illegal _ requests for the _ Head of International Cooperation_?!"

Harry jumped at the sound of Robards' fist on his desk, his sympathetic nervous system completely on the fritz after his unsettling weekend with Draco at Malfoy Manor.

"I met him at one of Draco's gatherings, sir," Harry said carefully. "He unsettled me. It was wrong to submit the requests without cause. I was… just trying to understand who he is, I guess. Sir."

"Well," Robards said, face sour. "Good thing he is a reasonable, _ forgiving _ man. At least, he was reasonable enough to agree to not insist upon your firing — or even suspension — with the proviso that you sit down with him and ask your questions face to face."

"Sir, _ no _ —"

"Would you rather me suspend you, with an enormous demerit on your record?" Robards interrupted, demanding. "The man seemed to feel that your record — as it _currently_ is — speaks for itself. You're good at what you do and you are on course to one day qualify for Head Auror or even Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I am _ taken aback _ by the breach in protocol _ and _ your slipshod appearance this morning. 

"Auror, I_ want _ you to do well. You deserve it, after all that the Pureblood Uprising put you through during your formative years and after _ all _ you sacrificed to end the war for us. Be_cause _ I want you to do well, I must _ insist _ that you take the olive branch he's extended and make peace with the man. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied miserably. "When is he expecting me?"

"As soon as we're done here."

Harry nodded, eyes downcast.

"If it helps, Auror, as a department Head, Mister Riddle has worked tirelessly to redeem the Isle's reputation on the world stage and not only that, but he continually invents ways to make international cooperation with the other departments more streamlined as well. Not just with the Aurors and Law Enforcement, but Accidents, Sports, Creatures, and Transportation, too. It could be that in granting you this… _ interview_, he's investing in your potential as a future peer."

It _ really _ didn't help to find out that the man he was trying (and failing) to forget and get over was apparently amazing at every facet of his job.

"Yes, sir," was his only reply.

"Go, then, Auror, and return back to your desk afterwards. He will update me on how he felt it went himself."

With that foreboding final statement, Harry nodded and excused himself, heading out of the Auror Office, down the hall and towards the lifts with feet that alternated between wanting to drag along as slowly as possible and sprint as fast as they could towards seeing Tom again.

The duality of his instincts made him noticeably jittery by the time he made it to Tom's office (or perhaps that came from twitching and looking around at every pale gold flash of movement in case it was his boyfriend) and knocked on the open door.

Tom was seated at a desk even larger than Robards', though less devoid of ornaments with its neat piles of paper and a few awards positioned just so. He was frowning at his work, quill scratching what seemed to be a painstakingly thought out sentence before the knock reached him and he looked up with stern expectance that morphed into that same surprised delight he'd worn three weeks ago when guilt-ridden Harry had shown up to surprise Draco (and perhaps to sneak a peek at Tom again.)

"Auror Potter," he greeted officially, his frown returning as he actually began to take in the lackluster details of Harry's appearance. "Please shut the door and we can commence."

Harry obeyed, feeling his freedom disappear with the turning of the knob. Tom may have frowned when given a second to look_ him _ over, but Harry wasn't so lucky. The flutterby bush in his stomach that had given him the insane urge to rush had burst into life at the first glance of the man. It wasn't fair that he was just so unbelievably _attractive_.

With the closing of the door, Tom dropped the authoritative attitude.

"I admit I was planning on questioning you mercilessly until you began to squirm for me, darling, but upon seeing the state of you… I feel I cannot do it."

Harry flinched at the reappearance of Tom’s overly-familiar manner of address, and refused to turn around from where he stood, still holding onto the doorknob in fear of letting go of his only route of escape.

Tom's brisk stride, clipping against the floor, approached swiftly, and Harry cringed further against the dueling hope and fear wrestling in his stomach. Maybe he’d been more traumatized by the weekend than he’d previously thought. Tom’s approach felt almost like a life raft… so _ wrong_.

"Have we been found out, darling?" Tom asked, fingers curling around what they could of Harry's tense triceps. "Did your boyfriend insist you put the requests in? It is hard to imagine anything but the worst could make such a formidable man look so haggard in such a short period of time."

"No," Harry refuted, voice strangled with the now-familiar shame that curdled within him night and day. "He doesn't know. At least he hasn't shown the type of behavior that would lead me to know for certain."

"But you suspect?"

The warmth of Tom at his back and the scent of him curling lightly through the air around him relaxed something in Harry, and he swayed slightly backwards before regaining control and firming his feet against the lure.

"I find myself completely unable to read his expressions," Harry whispered harshly to the door. He’d started speaking hoping to punish the man behind him with the consequences of his actions... but as the words left him, he realized what he’d actually done was throw a desperate arm out towards that raft he’d sensed. Once he'd started, the words started pouring out of him... thrashing in the surf towards safety.

"I'm good at it — one of the best in the Office. Perks of a life like mine, I guess... but all my training is useless when I'm faced with him. When he smiles at me is it genuine, or is he hiding something? When he's irritated is it the same as always, or is there more to it? When I turn around, will there be a smile or a curse on his lips? I am blinded by my own sins. They're all I see." 

Harry gripped the door knob harder, and Tom gave a squeeze of his own to Harry's arms, a warning against leaving that was completely unnecessary by that point, but settled some insecure part of Harry that had wanted _ some _ kind of guidance anyway.

"After the party on Friday —" Harry cut himself off. Was he_ really _ going to share what happened? No. He needed to get a hold of himself, to remember that this was _ his boyfriend's boss _ he was mentally slurping up fortitude from. How disloyal _ was _ he, to even have been _ thinking _ about sharing something so frankly unflattering of Draco?

"Friday?" Tom prompted.

Harry shook his head. "No. I shouldn't be saying any of this. This is highly inappropriate, especially given that I came here officially, to be reprimanded. If you could just let go, sir, we'll continue this more professionally."

"But I don't want to let you go, darling," Tom drawled, pulling back on Harry's arms until he had to choose between clinging awkwardly to the doorknob or resting his back against Tom's chest.

He chose Tom over embarrassment. As the man's arm came securely around his waist, reminding him of their fuck on the balcony, he shuddered with relief and pleasure and wondered how he had even lasted that long before giving in.

"Will you greet me, Harry?" Tom murmured into the skin below his ear, curving his body around Harry so they touched from cheeks to knees. "The way you let me say goodbye to you three weeks ago?"

"No," Harry said instantly. "I'm not going through that again."

"Let me greet you, then," Tom breathed. "Just a brief 'hello.' Do you know how many Frenchmen I have kissed since I had you?

"A thousand," Harry said, and the grumbling jealousy in his voice was painfully obvious.

Tom laughed and turned Harry, who let himself be moved because despite his protests, his body was screaming for the man's attention... was crying out for their overwhelming chemistry to erase the weekend's horrors.

"You overestimate my department's efficiency," he chuckled, eyes glimmering with anticipatory delight. "Two, right? That's just one for each cheek."

"You're apparently the Frenchman-kissing expert," Harry tried to gripe, but it came out breathy and possessive and Tom's eyes flashed on response.

"None that I wanted to greet half — a _ quarter _ as much as I want to greet you, now," Tom placated, his hands leaving Harry's arms cold so they could cup his face instead. Harry was many things, and weak was seldom one of them. But he had barely slept in three days and he _ needed _ to feel better.

So he gave up.

He murmured, "Stop playing games," and reached for Tom's neck to pull him in, skipping cheeks entirely and kissing him directly on the mouth. Just like last time, when presented with Harry’s ‘point of no return,’ Tom turned the kiss up to scorching intensity, pressing Harry backwards until his back hit the door, taking control of Harry's head between his hands and sliding his tongue against the younger man's in a way that made him vocalize somewhere between a growl and desperate whimper.

He felt better. He felt _so much better._

This time, however, Tom kept his thighs to himself and was also the one to slow down the fire of the kiss until he finally ended it with two soft kisses on either side of Harry's mouth, each barely qualifying as on the cheek.

"Why?" Harry asked as Tom stayed close, his temple pressed to Harry's and their bodies still pressed firm. Why not push? Harry had caved. Tom could do anything. Why stop at just a kiss? (Why did he feel so horridly rejected?)

"It's too dangerous to get carried away at this time of day," Tom replied, soothing Harry with a memorizing touch along the parts of his back that weren't squashed against the door. "Even for you, darling, I won't risk losing my career."

"What do you want from me?"

"I already told you that, three weeks ago."

Harry frowned. "I'm pretty sure you didn't."

"I did," Tom said, and even though Harry had forced him to repeat himself, an unexpected smile stretched across his face. "I have laid out a few breadcrumbs for you, dear. I want to know if you'll follow them the way you did your mysteries as a child, dismantling the Pureblood Uprising."

Harry tensed, the way he always did when someone he didn't know very well mentioned the war. The 'breadcrumbs' he'd followed as a teen had led to enemies and_ death_. Which side had Tom even been on? He hadn’t been high-profile, whichever it had been. 

"Hush, darling," Tom said, as if cajoling a small child to sleep. "You have nothing to fear from me."

"I don't _ know _ that," Harry whispered, pulling away.

"Use that training you mentioned on _me_. Those honed Auror instincts. I won't hide. What am I feeling right now?"

Harry raised his gaze obediently, getting stuck on those burning red-brown eyes for a few seconds before studying the rest of his face, then his body language, taking note of any visible tension before speaking his thoughts aloud, with only the slightest amount of filtering.

"No, you don't want to hurt me," Harry decided. _'Not more than a good shagging would do, anyway,'_ Harry thought, more wistfully than he was prepared to handle.

"The indulgent lust aside... my guess is that right now your main emotion is focused on your curiosity as to what I'm going to tell you. Unsurprising. But... there's a nervousness there too, you're afraid of what I might find —"

Harry studied the subtly tensing body before him. "No, you're afraid of what I might_ tell _ you. Someone as composed as you... I'm sure you're not afraid of a wrong guess. _That _ you could shrug off easily, or smooth-talk me into not believing my own eyes. So I must hazard the guess that you're afraid I'll tell you a truth you aren't ready to accept yet. I failed Divination pretty thoroughly so I can tell you that my silly little guesses won't run _ that _ deeply."

Harry took note of the quick smirk Tom gave him, the slight depressing of the man's shoulders, and the way the warm thighs against his own softened, just a touch.

"The arrogance implied by that smirk isn't how you really feel… or at least not _ most _ of what you feel. You were mostly relieved that I can't see too deeply into you." Tom's smirk tightened, along with his abdomen and all of the previously loosened parts of him. "You don't like that I've noticed that."

That got a genuine laugh out of Tom, the first Harry'd heard since the man had taken such joy in tricking Harry into believing Draco could see him come on Tom's cock. "What else do you see, Master Auror?" Tom asked teasingly once his humor had calmed.

His eyes were warm and still bright from his laughter. They looked the short distance down at Harry with the first signs of genuine regard he'd seen from the man — no, that wasn't quite true, he _ was _ honestly pleased to see him in the Ministry, today _ and _ three weeks ago. The longer Harry stared, wondering, the more Tom seemed to relax into it, the more his eyes expressed, the more lax his body grew.

Had Draco ever looked at him like that?

"I — I need to go," Harry stammered, pulling away, his back pressing against the door again... but completely unable to stop looking at the eyes looking back into his.

"What did you see, Harry," Tom prompted with a gentleness that matched his expression but _ not _ Harry's perception of him from that night.

"I don't know," Harry lied. "Let me go."

A solitary finger laid itself upon his lips and Harry stopped wriggling away, obeying some instinct inside himself to surrender to the tender, unspoken order.

"Tell me what you saw," Tom ordered, voice lower than Harry would have thought it could get, compared to his normal pleasant tenor. "Tell me, or I'll take you over my knee until you _ beg _ me to let you tell me."

Harry scowled, yanking away away from the touch.

"Despite how I reacted _ in the moment _ to your shitty behavior three weeks ago, force and pain won't make me _ respect _ you. Won't make me _ trust _ you. You're dangerous, Tom Riddle. It doesn't take an Auror to see that. Anyone with a pulse will do."

"Is that what your little Auror test showed you?" Tom asked, his voice mocking and all warmth vanished from his face. _ 'He's on the defensive,' _ Harry's mind supplied unbidden, still ready to analyze. _ 'He's offended that I knocked the way he fucked me; he's feeling emasculated.' _

"No," Harry sighed, flight bleeding out of him. He knew all too well how _that_ felt. He didn't want to make anyone — even Tom — feel it too.

_ 'Stupid training making me see things from his point of view,' _ he thought, petulant.

"If what I did see is true, then you'd best not go the pain and humiliation route with me, though," Harry said, closing his eyes and resting his head against the door behind him. Merlin, he was so exhausted. He should return back to Grimmauld to sleep tonight just to get some fucking rest without waking up every thirty minutes from dreams about Draco sneaking up on him with kitchen knives.

"What will it take to get you to fall at my feet?" Tom asked, as if with idle curiosity. Harry snapped his eyes open, and noted tension in various places and vulnerabilities in others. The asshole actually wanted to know the answer.

"No one's proved themselves worthy of such a thing, and I can't imagine what insane miracle it would take from_ you_, at this point in our acquaintance."

Harry turned, finally ready to leave the room with its steadily less alluring contents, and Tom's cruel voice stopped him as his hand twisted on the knob.

"You wanted him to see you. You wanted revenge for how he disregards you. You came in that moment_ because _ you thought he saw you getting fucked by me. Finally getting what you _ needed _ from me. _ That's _ what I gave you that night. What you _ begged _ for."

Harry bared his teeth, incensed, but unable to deny the truth of the words. He leveled Tom a look over his shoulder and told him _his_ inconvenient truth — the one someone like Tom had probably been most afraid to hear.

"You're in love with me." 

And then he left, and that time Tom didn't thwart his escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's... a pretty good way to scare off a fuckboy, actually. 🤔


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I thought it was an A+ idea to end the chapter where I did. So, here you have a little baby potato chip of a chapter at 2k-ish words and the next one will be a hamburger at 4.7k words. (Then another 2k potato chip and then a FEAST at 7.4k... no consistency at *all.*)

# Chapter Four

* * *

* * *

Deciding he couldn't trust his subconscious not to wander too far that night (considering his intense, _ unconsummated _ lip-lock with Tom,) he stopped by the clinic before returning to his desk, checking out a large bottle of Dreamless Sleep from the Matron there. General-use Sleeping Draughts worked wonders, _ except _ for the fact that you couldn't wake up even if you were dreaming about something horrifying. There was enough going on in his dreams that he definitely didn't want to get trapped in a dream where Draco was determined to murder him or where Tom took him right in front of all his friends and estranged relatives... Harry being so overcome with lust and humiliation that he couldn't say 'no.'

He shuddered in unsettling remembrance of both dreams, then blinked as a paper airplane zoomed into his "IN" box, and grabbed the memo curiously after it flattened itself out.

'Thursday at seven' the note read simply. The handwriting was impossibly even, as if it had been designed and printed by Muggle means. Only the slightest, nearly invisible difference between the two "e's" in 'seven' told Harry that the letters had been penned by hand. He marveled at them for a moment, given pause by the strangest desire to frame the perfect lettering like a piece of artwork.

'No' Harry scratched out directly underneath instead, and sent it on its way. He hated that there was yet another thing about Tom that was distressingly flawless. Shaking his head, he set himself to sorting the disorganized pile it had landed on, hoping for a report or complaint that would have him leaving the Ministry entirely for a follow-up call.

"Auror Potter," Robards' familiar rumble came from the entrance to his cube a few minutes later.

"Yes, sir?" he said immediately. The apprehension over what his boss could possibly want after having spoken with 'Mister Riddle' only made itself known in the breath directly afterwards.

"There's some additional follow-up from your interview which we need to discuss," he informed Harry stiffly. "Please join me in my office."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, the corners of his mouth turning down.

_ 'Well, when you fuck with powerful people, your can expect that the powerful people will fuck you right back,' _ Harry thought, his mind and — somewhere inside his chest, he was _ not _ going to say his heart — filled with turbulence. He shouldn’t have expected Tom _ not _ to take revenge professionally… and yet somehow he still had.

He looked around his office for just the few seconds that he would allow himself to dawdle, listening to the steady scratch of a cheap quill a few cubes down, drawing in the last musty breath of air of the Auror Office, before standing and heading towards what he was sure would be either suspension followed by probation or an outright firing.

The sense that his life had fallen completely out of his control swamped Harry the moment he left his cubicle, though he did his level best to quell it… even while he felt he was walking to the gallows. A part of him honestly felt betrayed. Though his impression of Tom had soured the longer he'd been left to reminisce over the 'incident' (as wild and_ furious _ a fucking as it had been, it left many possible interpretations and Harry's experience taught him to trust all the bad ones) he'd truly believed he'd seen the truth in Tom in his office.

_ 'He was afraid of it,' _ Harry reasoned. _ 'You _knew_ he was afraid of it. That's why you threw it at him like an Extended-Release Stinging Charm as you left.' _

"Auror Potter, please close the door behind you," Robards instructed, an unfamiliar quality to his voice that Harry couldn't quite call _ unsure _ but felt like it might be at least related.

"Sir?"

"Just what did you do in that meeting, Auror?" Robards demanded.

Harry's mouth worked for a moment before his voice did. "He didn't tell you himself?" he asked uncomfortably.

Robards had used his title, which Harry wouldn't expect if he was about to be dismissed. Harry's eyes flicked over his brow, his shoulders, his hands loosely clasped on the desk in front of him, elbows off the table as if instinctively he felt the need to remain _ polite_, and felt even more confused about what Tom might have said. Robards may be blustering, but it was obvious Harry wasn’t about to be shown the door.

"No, he did," Robards admitted. "But he was frustratingly vague. I'd rather hear it from you."

Harry bit his tongue, holding himself back from making the kind of snarky comment that would have made _ Draco _ laugh but would only piss off his boss.

"We were talking about my… decision making as an Auror," Harry began, deciding he'd let Robards make of that what he would. "He had me read him, to personally gauge his intentions. I don't think he would have liked what I said…?"

Robards lifted an eyebrow at the lift Harry's voice took at the end of his statement, a leading note that was not quite a question but still quite clearly indicated Harry was fishing for answers. "Whether or not he liked it or even agreed with the conclusions you came to are still known only to him. However, much can be inferred by the fact that before you'd even made it back to your desk he'd fire called me demanding you be reassigned to _ his _ protection detail from now on."

Harry broke stance, mouth dropping and hand fumbling for the back of the chair he stood next to for balance before he jerked himself back together, hands clenched hard behind his back where his boss couldn't see. Personal protection detail was a _ huge _ promotion for someone as green as Harry _ should _ be, with only five years in the Office. "I see, sir."

The Head Auror gave him a mildly amused glance, before sliding a few stacked pieces of parchment across the table towards him. "Look over the job description, requirements, duties, and non-disclosure agreements _ carefully _ before making this choice, Auror. This is a role that I saw coming for you, as you know, but on a normal promotion track it wouldn’t be for another few years. You need to think carefully about this... and whether you're up for the task so early in your career."

"May I speak with Mister Riddle about it, sir?" Harry asked. It took nearly all his concentration to keep his jaw loose instead of spitting the words out angrily between clenched teeth.

"He's already made room in his busy schedule for a meeting between you two at seven, on Thursday," Robards informed him. Harry's molars ground together in the back of his mouth as he_ seethed _ at that familiar day and time. "I know it is after hours, but I would suggest you take him up on it, and get all of your concerns out of the way."

"Did he say where the meeting would take place?" Harry asked, rocking his jaw from side to side in a bid to release the muscles tensed with rage.

Robards gave him an odd look. "In his office, of course," he said. "It's official business."

Harry bit his cheek until it hurt. _ Official _ his _ arse _ —

"Listen, Aur—" Robards cut himself off, before seeming to make a concerted effort to appear concerned, rather than strict. "_Harry_, off the record, if you wish. What is all this about?"

Harry gritted his teeth again, casting about for something safe to say. "There is a rumor," he attempted, uncomfortably, "that he is something of a homewrecker. I'm uncomfortable with the offer."

Robards' hand came up to his mouth, and Harry watched, bewildered, as a loud snort came from the man, followed by some smothered guffaws. "That old thing again?" he chortled. He kept making visual efforts to control himself before shaking with gagged laughter again.

"Forgive me, Potter, I am not laughing at you," he said at last. "Oh, I can't wait to tell him that rumor is still alive and well. He's going to be _ pissed_."

Harry stared, comprehending what he was seeing, but feeling as though he didn’t. "Sir?" he inquired impatiently.

"There was _ one _ incident, close to twelve years ago, now, where he made a pass at someone he shouldn't have," Robards admitted, still fighting down chuckles unsuccessfully. "Afterwards, even though he hadn't even _ touched _ the woman, her husband flew into a jealous rage when she told him that she couldn't stop thinking about the offer and asked the man for a divorce to go be with Tom — Mister Riddle, that is," he explained, simultaneously revealing that he had a much closer friendship to Tom than Harry'd realized with the slip, and that Robards didn't have a clue what kind of _ closer relationship _ Harry himself had with the correction.

"Did Mister Riddle accept her, after that?" Harry asked, entranced.

"_Merlin_, no!" Robards said, slapping his palm on the desk with a wide grin. "It was just a casual comment he’d made! He was horrified — professionally humiliated by the whole thing, his own career track set back several years by the knock to his reputation. He withdrew — to this day he doesn't even mingle at work functions anymore. As soon as the professional niceties are done and people start drinking he just goes off alone watching everybody like some kind of living gargoyle."

Robards grinned off into the middle distance, a sideways pull to his mouth telling Harry that he was having a grand time at his colleague's expense.

"It sounds like you are friends, sir," Harry guessed cautiously. He was still skeptical — after all, Tom_ had _ wheedled and begged and cajoled _ Harry_, all the while knowing he was _ very _ much taken.

"We've worked together for a long time," Robards said dismissively. "He needs an Auror escort every time he meets with foreign nationals on home soil or abroad… when he meets with foreign Muggle officials or stands by the Minister when _ he _ meets with the Muggle Prime Minister — you can see how busy you'll be, if you take the promotion."

Harry accepted the forms when Robards flicked them forward across his desk meaningfully, holding them like a shield over his middle. "I don't understand why _ me_. I broke the rules this morning, looking into him."

Robards laced his hands together again, looking at him with caution.

"I can't say why your actions impressed him, rather than infuriated him," he said after a moment. "Whether or not your guesses about him were accurate or not, something about the meeting convinced him you would be an asset. He did not hesitate when I reminded him of the facts that you've only been an Auror for five years and that you'd checked up on him _ illegally_. I will say… if what you said to him was correct, no matter if it was pleasant or not — perhaps, _ especially _ if it was not — it is very likely Riddle wants you to use that sense of perception in order to figure out others' motives towards him. 

"He has been a rising star within this Ministry from the moment he signed on, and he's on track to replace Shacklebolt as Minister, eventually. It is not always easy for him as a half-blood, even after the war," Robards said, revealing Tom’s blood status in a lowered voice. "He inspires respect among most, it's true, but it did not escape his attention that the rumor you previously mentioned was and _ is _ perpetrated almost entirely by older, pure families."

"Which ones?" Harry asked, apprehension hardening his gut.

Robards looked at him with something like pity. "Who told _ you_, Harry?"

Harry nodded, disappointment confirmed.

_ 'Draco_.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon is that it was Myrtle who got all fluffed up over a simple compliment from Tom and then obsessed over it to the point of wanting to leave her hubby.


	5. Chapter 5

# Chapter Five

* * *

* * *

After working out some of his confused aggression in the Training Room, a sweaty and even more fatigued Harry made his way to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures before thinking to take advantage of the early dismissal Robards had offered.

"Goodness, Harry, I haven't seen you look this bad since that time you had to write the speech for the fifth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts," Hermione noted baldly, after his knock on her door frame.

Harry gave her a look. "That was just last year," he reminded wryly, then sighed. "You don't need to try to get a rise out of me, I came to you to talk about it."

"Well, not here, or now," she said offhandedly, leaning over her desk towards a pretty crystal statuette of a witch holding up a golden wand. It's depths swirled with the red and gold of Gryffindor. "This present here from _ Department Head Peasegood _ is an eavesdropping device," she half-yelled directly into it.

"Really?"

Harry leaned forward to look more closely at figurine, shooting a strong Confundus Charm at it before continuing the conversation. Whatever was connected to the crystalline witch would be hopelessly scrambled with the amount of power he'd put into the Charm. "How did you know? Have you reported it?"

"I haven't," she said, leaning back casually. "I just yell at it every so often. It's a great stress reliever."

Harry shook his head. He himself might have kept his knowledge of such a thing secret, and fed false information through it in order to catch the culprit. "It needs to be reported."

Hermione waved her hand at him. "Hence why I'm telling you, silly."

Harry laughed, shaking his head at her. Success, marriage, and motherhood had treated Hermione_ very _ well. In the five years since the war she had grown into her formidable intelligence the way Harry had grown into his knobby knees, and then when Ron had quit the Aurors she'd worried even less than before. She was a far cry from the little girl being taunted with bad words by Draco on the Hogwarts lawn, and her self-possession filled Harry with envy every time he was around her.

"Let me know when you have a free moment, Madame Law," he teased, crossing his ankle over his knee. "Just make it sometime before Thursday at seven, please. I really need an outside perspective on something."

Hermione chewed her lip. "I can do breakfast tomorrow."

Harry shook his head. "I need to be at work on time and undistracted tomorrow. Robards is not pleased with the amount of sleep I appear to be getting," he said, cringing.

Hermione studied the bags under his eyes, the greyed appearance of his skin and wilder than normal hair, and Harry watched her do it, knowing even the cooled gym sweat wouldn’t distract her from seeing it all. "Lunch tomorrow, then," she said firmly. "I'll make it happen. We'll go to one of ours, if that suits."

"Grimmauld, then," Harry said, not meeting her eye. "Some of it is not fit for little Rosie to hear, and Kreacher won't care."

"Oh?" Hermione said, obviously taken aback. "Are we talking career moves here or _ personal _ business?"

Harry grimaced, looked at the Confounded figurine listening in, and deciding not to chance it he mouthed to her, _ 'both.' _

"Oh, dear," Hermione murmured.

After discussing the particulars of Hermione's bugged gift and with plans to meet up for lunch the next day at the Hopping Pot in the Carkitt Market square for takeout before heading back to his, Harry retreated back to his cube to write up the preliminary report on the statue.

"I thought I told you to take the day off, Auror," Robards said forbiddingly as he wrote down as many details as he could remember them discussing with the figurine Confunded against listening in.

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed. "However, I was made aware of a crystal statue cursed with an illegal Listening Charm in Madam Granger's office and decided to get the report made up right away."

After a tense silence, Robards ordered, "Come to my office when you've finished."

When Harry signed off on the last filled-out sheet of paperwork and carried them all to his boss's office, he immediately noticed a crystal figurine of a tiger resting in the middle of the desk. The center of it swirled orange and black, and the eyes were set with what looked like a warm-yellow type of gem.

"I have placed a Deafening Charm on it," Robards said, lip curled. "I do not need to explain to you the importance of keeping this quiet."

"No, sir," Harry agreed, staring at the innocuous looking thing with a frown slowly growing. "Let's get started on your report, then sir. When did it come into your possession, and who gave it to you?"

"Just this Christmas, and Department Head Arthur Peasegood."

Harry nodded, jotting down not only those details, but also the symbol that indicated a connection to another victim within the case, and Hermione's file number. "Have you had any reason to suspect Mister Peasegood of any ill-will or subterfuge in your interactions previous to this day?"

"No," Robards said immediately. "He takes his job seriously, and has a strong professional resume. I've never known him to be particularly ambitious, though he _ is _ admittedly difficult to get along with. I believe he may have been framed as a red herring away from the true culprit."

"Sir," Harry murmured softly, a hint of warning in his tone.

"My apologies," Robards said, gripping his hands together on his desk hard enough that his fingers turned white.

"You have to recuse yourself," Harry reminded, earning himself a glare.

"I _ know _ that, Auror," Robards reprimanded. "Before I do so, I am going to place you on the case, _ solo_, do you understand?"

"If I take the job protecting Riddle —"

"Then you will still be an Auror, still under the authority of this department. You will seem to be out of the way, _ out of commission_, while actually being within investigative reach of many of the foreign agents who might be responsible for placing these things within Peasegood's path."

"You think it's espionage?" Harry asked skeptically, habitually scribbling the statement down as he did so.

"It could be _ anything_. As Department Head Riddle's on-call Auror, you will be assigned no involved cases while you work with him; that's protocol. I want you to use the free time while he's in his office here to locate any other devices of this type and follow up with their owners. _ This must be done quietly, _ understood."

"Yes, sir," Harry murmured. He dragged one finger down the paper, thinking. "Is this the first gift you've received from Mister Peasegood?"

"Yes. He's not the type."

"Did he hand it to you personally?"

"Yes, he did. The last Friday before Christmas, he came by with it, wrapped."

"Was there anything odd about his behavior? Confusion, sweating, illness, forgetting past events?"

"In my opinion, there was nothing that indicated that Peasegood was under the influence of Imperius or disguised by Polyjuice," Robards informed him with a look on his face that seemed to chide Harry for not asking the real question outright.

"Just following procedure, sir. So, would you say that Mister Peasegood seemed genuine in his wish for you to have that figurine?"

"... _ Yes_," Robards admitted through gritted teeth and a warning glare.

"Did he make mention of where you should place it?"

"He mentioned the uncluttered nature of my desk and that it would be an improvement," Robards said, shoulders drooping.

Harry marked that down, along with the 'connection' symbol again. "Sir," Harry said next, hesitating. "Is there anything of a sensitive nature the figurine could have picked up on? Anything that puts you or the Ministry or its citizens at risk?"

"I had it in my bottom drawer,” Robards said, patting the top of his desk on the side that Harry assumed he’d stowed it in. “Whatever it would have heard would be muffled… but we will have to audit the details of every case that has crossed my desk since I received this thing, until today. If every Department Head is affected, as well as promising employees like your Madam Granger…”

Harry clenched his jaw, feeling his limbs tingle, readying themselves for the fight ahead.

“I want you to visit the Head offices _ today_, Auror,” Robards said firmly. “I am officially calling you back in to work, your early dismissal is no longer viable. First, you need to take the matter to Mister Riddle —"

"_Sir _ —"

"_— who is the first line of defense against foreign intrusion_, and search his office as well as apprise him of the entire situation, including that you will be working this case while you work with him. After that, the office of the Minister, and inform him of the existence of this investigation as well. Nothing takes priority over these two, no one _ knows _ except these two, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry muttered. “With this case, do I even have the choice to say no to the promotion?”

Robards snorted, a short sound devoid of humor. “We can stop pretending you were ever going to say no, Potter. It’s too good of a career move to waste.”

_ ‘But you don’t know what happens between us,’ _ Harry thought desperately.

“Riddle,” Robards said firmly, holding up a finger, “Shacklebolt,” he held up another, “and only then everyone else,” he finished, letting the rest of his fingers rise up one by one.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said obediently, then took a deep breath, excitement growing in his belly at what he was about to say. “Sir, while I am following up with Mister Riddle and the Minister, you will need to write the recusement and when I return I will add it to the file.”

Fighting back giddiness from giving _ Robards _ an order, he continued just as strongly, “From then on, I will be the lead on the case and will not be able to share information with you. Do you suggest I consult with Madam Tutala in your stead?”

Robards leaned over his desk, reading his weight on his forearms and tapping his fingers on the wood in front of him in thought. “No,” he said finally. “Don’t misunderstand me,” he said urgently, as if he thought Harry would protest. “She has been adequate enough in her role as our Head of Law Enforcement. But she was never an Auror, and frequently does not understand the reasons behind many of the procedures we have.”

Harry nodded, relieved at being on the same page. Even as an antsy new Auror he’d noticed it in the woman. She was uneasy with the precautions they took and the slowdowns they engendered, not understanding the dangers to themselves and their shared department if they didn’t watch their _ own _ backs as well as the lives and rights of the citizens they protected. Reporting to her would have been an endless source of frustration… of countless explanations for why he must do things a certain way rather than how she thought made more sense, why he didn’t have the answers to the questions she wanted yet, and there was more than a little potential that she would compromise the secrecy of this particular investigation because she was the type to trust her_self _ first.

“Yes, sir,” he said finally, keeping all his thoughts to himself.

“Auror Potter, one last thing before I recuse myself completely.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Until we have more information on who this might be, share no details with anyone else, understood?”

Harry frowned. “Sir, we already agreed it needed to be kept —”

“I need a verbal acceptance you will not discuss the case with anyone, including your friends or your partner.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised. “Beyond the initial interviews with the subjects and any follow-up that I come across, I was not planning on it,” he said honestly. “Draco is amazing in many ways… but he deals in information. He’s a gossip. It will hurt to lie, but I will keep this from him.”

It was _for_ Draco that he would keep it from the blond. What if he gossiped to the wrong person and got dragged into a dangerous situation? The man was incredibly hot-headed — it was incredibly likely.

“Madam Granger too,” Robards pressed.

Harry’s lips thinned. “It’s been several years since I relied on Hermione’s intellect to get me through a case. I _ can _ do this one on my own. Sir.”

Robards gave him another quelling look. “At ease, Auror. That’s not what I meant and you well know it.”

Harry ducked his head. “Yes, sir. May I go? I would like to get started on this as soon as possible.”

“Yes, please do. When you come back, I will have lost a significant amount of authority over you as promised,” Robards said, pulling a blank sheet of paper out of his desk with a discontent expression.

Harry wanted to disagree, such was the respect he had for his boss, but rationally he knew the case changed everything. Harry hadn’t been this much of a free agent since his days unravelling the mysteries of the war with Ron and Hermione at Hogwarts. Again, his limbs prickled with the urge to run through the challenge presented before him.

“Yes, sir,” he said as compassionately as he knew how, and left the office.

From the supply cupboard he gathered up a thick stack of empty forms and blank parchment, nabbing up more than one quill and a Short-Range Sneakoscope as well, before heading back to the lifts.

The Sneakoscope variant was one of several tools created by Fred and George Weasley in the war, unbeknownst to the on-the-run Harry at the time, that the Auror Corps still used regularly, along with their Shield Hats and Cloaks. Unlike a normal Sneakoscope that shrieked whenever someone untrustworthy came within several meters, the Short-Range version the twins had created lurched and jumped silently when brought within a few centimeters of a cursed object or sneaky person.

According to the reports Harry had studied after the Battle of Hogwarts, it had been a Godsend during the war, telling friend from Polyjuiced or Imperiused foe in a way that was undetectable to the one being inspected. Holding it these days always gave Harry a keen sense of regret, however, missing Fred’s aggressively loud sense of humor sharply. Sighing away the emotion as the lift doors opened, he pocketed the Sneakoscope and headed up the stairs, back towards Riddle’s open door.

“Harry?”

He turned at the familiar voice calling his name, and saw Draco leaning out of his office, confused. He'd been so focused on his destination he'd walked right past his partner's open door. “It’s after lunch time,” he noted, frowning in that pouty way of his. Then: “Are you checking up on me?”

Harry snorted out a short, semi-hysterical laugh before clearing his throat, flushing red and shaking his head. “No, I’m actually here for a job interview, of sorts,” he said, bringing a hand up to the back of his head to tangle in his sweat-crisped hair, feigning sheepishness.

“Oh?” Draco’s mouth dropped open in genuine shock, and Harry couldn’t help but be _ un_flattered by it.

“Yeah, seems like Robards thinks it’s time to move me up to personal protection detail,” Harry said, eyeing that dropped jaw with a frown. “He thinks working with the Head of your department will give me valuable international exposure, if I’m going to take his job one day.”

Draco’s hand twitched within the folds of his robe and a smug smirk thread across his face. “It’s because I introduced you at the Yule gathering, isn’t it? You _ owe _ me, Potter.”

Harry laughed, hoping his voice wasn't thin enough to draw attention to his sudden, wild discomfort. “Yeah, right, _ Malfoy. _ What do you want, then?”

Draco licked his lips, staring intently at Harry, and with a sudden yank on his nerves, Harry realized that he couldn’t read the man's features again. He tensed, studying Draco’s face and not understanding the light in his eyes, the curve of his lips, any of it.

“Can we do it again? Like we did on Friday?”

Nausea rose sharply, and Harry swallowed hard, trying to give Draco and his implacable face a normal, encouraging smile. “Sure,” he said, voice strained. Draco’s mouth spread wide in a beaming smile, and through the lens of his resurging guilt and anxiety, Harry _ could not tell _ if there was a knowing edge to it, or if it was just a normal, happy expression.

“You promise, baby?” he asked softly. “I’ll make you feel so good. You know the first time only hurts in the beginning.”

Harry’s mouth filled with saliva and he swallowed it and the surging nausea down rapidly, forcing his irrational reaction down and plastering on a smile. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice just as fragile as he’d been afraid it would be.

Something changed in Draco’s eyes — though whether it meant anything good or bad for Harry, he still couldn’t tell.

Tom’s voice rang out, stern and unimpressed. “Auror Potter. Head Auror Robards let me know you were coming; please do not waste my time by delaying any longer.”

“Go get ‘em, Harry,” Draco drawled under his breath, lifting his chin towards his boss with an arrogant posturing of his body and an irreverently spoken “Sir.”

“I apologise Mister Riddle,” Harry called evenly, stepping away from Draco and striding (_fleeing) _ towards Tom where he stood with arms crossed and a displeased expression on his face. “Thank you for your patience.”

“Back to work, Mister Malfoy,” Riddle spoke to Draco as Harry slipped past him into the office, his tone infinitely more polite than it had been with Harry.

“I’m here on official business,” Harry warned after the door closed, holding up a hand to stave off any incoming wrath Tom might hold for him after the last time they spoke.

“Yes, Gawain said so,” Tom said, eyes fierce as they stared back at him. “Though he would not say what in relation to. Is this about the job offer? Please don’t tell me I’ve managed to insult you with it.”

Harry lifted a finger to his lips and shook his head in the negative as he spoke, drawing his wand and starting a circuit of the office as he did so. “Yes, of course, though I can’t imagine why you thought I would be insulted, sir. It is a great honor. Head Auror Robards explained to me the —” Upon seeing a crystal snake with almost neon yellow eyes nestled amongst several other trinkets all gathered together on the same bookshelf, Harry’s monologue stuttered briefly. 

“— the importance of the career move and the exposure it would give me —” Tom caught his wrist as Harry levitated the snake off the shelf while he spoke, and silently shook his head, gesturing for Harry to send it back.

“The shelf is spelled against eavesdropping,” Tom said once it was back in place. “How did you know about the basilisk?”

“_Basilisk_?" Harry said, eyeing the figurine interestedly. There hadn't been a basilisk sighting in hundreds of years; Harry had never seen one before, outside of the stylized illustrations in his textbook. "That is the third one found,” Harry replied, voice turning grim. “The other two — a tiger and a witch statue — were given to the Head Auror and Madam Granger of the Department of —”

“I know Madam Granger,” Tom interrupted impatiently. “How convenient that they would be discovered _ today _ right after I sent in the transfer request for you. Is now when you tell me you can’t take the job because you’ll be tied up in this case for the foreseeable future?”

Harry ignored the nasty tone. “How thorough is the protection spell on that shelf?”

Tom’s eyes flickered towards it briefly, and a rare look of indecision marred his features before smoothing away. “Perfectly thorough. Whoever is Listening will hear us speaking of the contract, more than likely."

Harry frowned at it, thinking hard. "I've never heard of a spell like that."

"It is my own creation."

Harry gaped at him. "You're a_ spell_ _crafter_ too?" he demanded, indignant.

Tom's eyebrows rose. "You have an issue with people creating their own spells?"

Harry wanted to claw Tom's face up, or his own, he didn't know which one was more appealing at the moment. He was getting tired of Tom Riddle being so bloody impressive. "The only person I knew to make their own spells was Professor Snape," he said finally, proud of his self control.

"He was a friend," Tom said, a faint smile crossing his face as he looked at the shelf. "I am a voracious scholar... though younger than me, he kept me busy for years with esoteric potions, spell crafting, and mutually honing the mind arts."

"Ah," Harry said wincing in remembrance. "I was not a good pupil of his in Occlumency."

Tom glanced back at him sharply, before affecting a casual stance. "No, you wouldn't be."

"Hey!"

Tom looked at his outrage with pure amusement. "Case in point," he said with a smirk sneaking out upon his lips. "Don't get yourself riled up, darling, it was just an observation. You are completely yourself, all the time. Occlumency is about splitting yourself into parts… parts that you can hide. There is an inherent deceitfulness in its practice. You are like a white knight, honest to a fault. Pure."

"Not so honest, apparently," Harry said, lifting a hand to his mouth in order to cover the genuine upset showing there.

"And you are falling apart because of it," Tom noted. "If I had the right measure of you I might have approached you differently."

Harry spluttered, then choked on an aspirated droplet of spit. "You_ approached _ me? You planned that?" he coughed out.

Tom gave him a look that was somewhere between disbelieving and angry and said, "Why does that cause you such _ offensive _ surprise? _ You _ were the one who told me this morning that apparently I _ love _ you."

"In love!" Harry argued, feeling that distinct urge to claw panic-furrows into his face again. "In love! It's entirely different!"

Tom frowned. "How?"

Harry fisted his hands by his side, forcing himself to calm. "_In _ love means when a spell comes at your —" 

He waved a hand at the length of Tom, and when when the man raised a single, perfect eyebrow in response Harry jerked his hand back in horrified realization of what he'd just implied about his _ own _ feelings. 

"— when your _ person _ is in danger, you watch the spell hit and are devastated… you'll mourn them, at some level, for the rest of your life. When you _ love _ someone, romantically or otherwise — like a parent for their kid, for example — the spell never hits because you jumped in front of it. There's no other option. Their death means the death of something _ necessary _ in your soul."

Silence reigned between them, and Harry stared at the shelf and the different ensorceled trinkets, unable to look at Tom who would definitely be staring daggers right back at him. "I see," the man said finally. Then Harry heard him shift away. "We should discuss this case."

Feeling a twinge of disappointment that he refused to analyze, Harry nodded, and widened his stance similar to parade rest to help himself focus solely on being an Auror, instead of his complicated relationship with the man in front of him.

"Robards, as a victim in the case, has agreed to recuse himself from the investigation. I am lead. From here I am to go to the Minister's office and do a sweep, and then the other Heads' from there. I am to work as part of your protection team, but when you are here, in office, and I am not on active duty I am to follow leads and pursue this investigation. It is to be kept absolutely silent, to avoid tipping off the press, unstable elements within this building… or the perpetrator him or herself."

Harry took a deep breath. "Those are the only orders I have. The entire scope and angle of the rest this case is on me. It is crucial that I gather as much information as I can while as few people as possible are the wiser for it. I think it's best if the figurines stay in place for as long as possible so as to not tip our hand, but that means that everyone with a figurine is_ compromised_."

"You think it's something big," Tom observed, eyes fierce and greedy as they watched him. "If you want, I can tell you who gave that to me."

"Arthur Peasegood."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "And yet, you are not arresting him. Which means the spellwork wasn't his. Who are your suspects?"

Excitement bubbled up in Harry's stomach with Tom's quick understanding and he fought the urge to bounce on the tips of his toes as if readying to engage in a firefight. He loved chasing a good case.

"Robards thinks it's espionage. Working for you will put me at a good vantage point to study and stakeout likely culprits."

Tom flashed a grin that held a hint of mockery in it, though his eyes were still sharp, drinking Harry in. "That is what Gawain thinks, but he has recused himself. I asked what_ you _ think."

Harry paused, wary.

"I am expecting, since I am to work with you, that you will have greater visibility into this case than anyone else. I understand that, and _expect_ it, even, but I was given orders to keep the details of this investigation to myself for the_ protection _ of the Ministry and our people. It is unwise to form any opinion at this point, with so little to work off of, but even if I was ready to commit to a motive I would not be able to share it with you. I am sorry if that is unsatisfactory."

"'Unsatisfactory,'" Tom said slowly, as if tasting Harry's rigid formality within his mouth before straightening his back and turning a neutral eye to his companion. "I do not like it, true, but I respect you all the more for it. Tell me, Auror Potter, what you need from me. I will cooperate fully with your investigation."

Harry smiled, grateful _ relief _ blooming out of him at the swift change of Tom's mood. Such a show of professional support was completely unexpected. Between the man's tender touch, his many resume credits, and Robards' story about about Tom's dating habits, it was increasingly clear to Harry that he did not have the right impression of Tom Riddle... and yet he still found himself anticipating the worst at every turn. "I have some questions and some forms," he said apologetically as he avoided Tom's analyzing stare.

"Shall we take a seat, then?" Tom asked, his tone carefully respectful.

"Yes, thank you," Harry responded, placing his stack of papers on the guest side of the enormous desk and fishing out his ink pot, quills, and Sneakoscope.

"Your Sneakoscope appears broken. With the figurine in the room it should be bursting our eardrums."

Harry smiled nostalgically at it. "It works a little differently than the usual one. See, watch."

Harry left the front of the desk to bring the Scope over to the shelf of items. He held it between three fingers to Tom could still have a good view of it, then slowly brought it closer until it came within the required distance. The ball jumped within his grasp and he needed to pinch it harder to keep from dropping it, but it had demonstrated itself perfectly.

"It's more precise," Tom said, a calculating eagerness to the remark. "And silent. Does it only work on cursed items?"

Harry shook his head, moving the Scope over the other items while he was already there. "It works in the same principles as the original. Sneaky, untrustworthy people, creatures, and objects all set it off. Did you know a few of these are also spelled?"

"There are four," Tom informed him with an air of carelessness. "Scattered '_randomly_' among true gifts I've received. Sometimes I take out one of them and feed it false information, either to set a trap or embarrass the listener as revenge. I have yet to catch number four, the one of interest in this case, however."

Harry couldn't help the grin. "When I saw Hermione's I thought the same thing. She yells at hers as a stress reliever. I thought I would do as you did, keep my knowledge of it hidden… catch the Listener."

"As you are approaching this case."

Harry nodded, returning to Tom's desk and the paperwork. He took a seat, picked up his quill, and prepared himself to think like an Auror, open to all possibilities.

“I need you to give me an inventory of every gift you’ve kept in your office along with which ones are compromised and which ones are not,” Harry said firmly, before sighing regretfully. “I will have to fill out a separate form for _ each _ of them.”

“Poor dear,” Tom drawled, voice devoid of compassion.

Harry rolled his eyes, and set quill to paper.

"When did you receive the figurine?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I had this whole thing about that spell on the shelf, but it doesn't really fit anywhere so I'll just tell you here.
> 
> The front ledge of that shelf actually works like a (concealed) modified Penseive, with the memories playing on top of it. (Think Dumbledore making Trelawney speak out into the room from the Hogwarts one.) Tom placed memories into it and the spell works to create realistic dialogue based on the contents of the memories. I had this whole thing where it didn't work at first so Tom had to drill a network of tunnels into the memory receptacle that would act as a simple brain for the memories to flow around in and be able to make simple decisions on word choice, etc. So essentially, noise from the outside room is Deafened from getting in, and the memories play made-up conversations inside the span of the shelf.
> 
> Tom looks uneasy when Harry mentions it because he doesn't know if he's ready to share such delicate spellwork with Harry yet.
> 
> 🌈The more you know, haha. 🌈


	6. Chapter 6

# Chapter Six

Tom was efficient and polite with his answers. It was incredibly helpful, and soothed the part of Harry that tended to scream _ 'beware! Asshole!' _whenever the other man was around. Harry kept his eye on Tom's small desk clock — an award for services rendered, it declared across its base — and wrote down the man's statement as precisely as he ever did, but even the professional atmosphere couldn't dim the constant, simmering attraction he felt.

In fact, with every serious answer and deferentially spoken observation the man gave Harry felt that Tom was becoming an even greater danger to him than before. He was reminded of the first initial curiosity he'd felt towards the man on the balcony, when it was still innocent and Harry's shame and humiliation hadn't colored everything Tom did. He'd felt safe, then, his admiration hidden within his own mind.

He felt safe again, within Tom's aura of compliant readiness, and the man seemed to know it, his eyes searing into Harry's with every glance the Auror_ thought_ he was sneaking. _God, _he felt such a jittery madness in his blood as he tried to transcribe Tom's words neatly and _knew_ the other man was watching his hands, his face, his mouth as he bit his lip... but such a sweet insanity it was, he would gladly endure it for as long as he got to keep the feeling.

"Will you kiss me goodbye, darling?" Tom asked, patting his lap to indicate where Harry should be while they shared that kiss as Harry gathered up his things to leave.

"No, I can't do that," Harry said, voice soft and calm.

"Didn't you give yourself to me just a few hours ago?" he said convincingly. "What's one more, in the scheme of things —"

"Don't," Harry whispered, feeling the good will they'd built up being dragged away by the man's persistence. "Don't ruin it."

Tom stared at him, frustrated and searching, before giving a single curt nod. Harry breathed out deeply in relief.

"I'll still expect you on Thursday at seven," he insisted standing. "We do need to discuss your role as my Auror."

"Yes," Harry said, frowning at the possessive '_my_.' "We do need to talk about that."

Tom let Harry turn the doorknob before asking "What happened Friday? What exactly was it he asked you for?"

Harry's breath hitched at the sudden reminder. "You were listening."

"Of course I was," Tom scoffed.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Tom's hand appeared over his shoulder, pressing flat against the door so Harry couldn't open it and escape. "Do you take me for a fool, darling?"

Harry tossed him a look over his shoulder. "Of course not!"

"Then, how about a common sadist? Is that how you think of me?"

Harry pressed his lips together. "No," he said finally.

"You don't sound convinced," Tom chuckled darkly into his ear. Harry shuddered at the heat of the man behind him, the enticing cologne he was quickly becoming addicted to filling his lungs. "Let me be clear: I am not. So_ how _ do you expect me to watch you walk away from me, knowing he plans to _ hurt _ you?"

Harry'd known he was listening. He just hadn't been prepared for the twisting ache in his chest when Tom had a _problem_ with what he'd heard.

Tom's hand had fisted against the door as he'd growled out those last few words, and Harry lifted a finger to drift over the whitened knuckles, regret and the longing to_ give up and give in _ taking his breath away for several shallow breaths.

"Don't worry," he said as Tom turned his hand around to interlace their fingertips. Harry closed his eyes briefly at the sweet image, preparing himself to throw the next dagger in the air. "It only hurts in the beginning."

With the lie uttered, he yanked open the door, forcing Tom to jump away from him out of view of potential onlookers. Harry strode away before the man could say _ something _ shifty to draw him back, and headed for the lifts.

"Harry!" came Draco's clearly irritated voice rang out next.

"Oh, hey," he responded, working up a smile for his boyfriend.

"So?" Draco pressed, "how did it go?"

"He's going to let me tag along on a trial basis," Harry improvised, seeing the Head office door was still open and _ knowing _ that Tom was hearing every word. "So we'll see."

He might have mentioned the meeting Tom had scheduled later that week, but something held him back. His cheeks heated with shame even as his jaw clenched, deliberately creating a needless secret.

"Well, I'm sure your appearance didn't help matters," Draco said matter-of-factly, drawing him back out of his spiraling funk.

"What?"

Draco sent him a disbelieving stare. "Harry, it looks like you haven't showered in_ days. _ Did you even do a Freshening Charm after working out?"

Harry grimaced. "... No," he said, knowing he couldn't tell Draco how caught up in the urgency of the new case he'd been.

"Well," Draco said, cocking his head and tapping a finger to his lips as he looked Harry's exhausted, rumpled appearance over. "Good thing for you my boss's standards are a little less _ raffiné_, I guess," he said, shrugging dismissively. "But not mine. _ Lepidus facio_!"

A soft-edged breeze swirled around Harry, ruffling his hair and diving into his robes, cleaning and tidying as they went. He hadn't even seen Draco grab his wand.

"You know, when I taught you how to stealth cast I didn't expect you to use it on me," Harry complained.

Draco laughed. "Well, that was your mistake: trusting a _ Slytherin_," he said, eyes dancing as he leaned into Harry's space.

Harry smiled back, a part of him relaxing back into the familiar feeling of their connection. "I'm learning my lesson," he said softly, leaning in as well, a part of him keening to restore normality.

A hand on his chest stopped him. "Harry, I _ work _ here," Draco whispered reproachfully.

"Ah," he vocalized, his embarrassment not quite strong enough to cover up the sting of rejection. He shook it off, then gave Draco an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I need to go, though."

"Are you coming over tonight?"

Harry shook his head, pressing the button for the lift. "No, I'm going to stay at my place tonight. I've got a date with a bottle of Dreamless Sleep, Robards' orders."

"Mm, sexy," Draco intoned dispassionately, then laughed at his own joke. "Seeya around, then. Especially if you're going to be working for Riddle."

Harry's eyes drifted over Draco's shoulder to the open door. "Yeah. Sometime this week, definitely."

"And I’ll collect on that debt,” Draco said, with a sly grin. “Bye, Harry."

The lift doors closed, shutting Harry’s sudden unease inside with him.

"Level one," he choked out, and the lift rose sharply.

There wasn't a charmed figurine in Minister Shacklebolt's office, but the man did receive one amongst the multitude of other trinkets he received every Christmas. He'd taken it home and placed it with the others in an Imperturbable box, but promised to secure it for Harry as soon as possible. His Senior Undersecretary _ did _ have one right on _ his _ desk, however, as well as most of his support staff.

Seeing the multitudinous proof that Robards' and his fears were valid, Harry made the quick decision to don his Invisibility Cloak and place low level Confundus Charms on every statuette he came across. He kept his intent focused as he crept about, casting silently again and again, and hoped that it would just mix up the dates and details delivered to the eavesdropper, and not completely give away the fact that they'd been tampered with. The pressure to solve the case as quickly as he could mounted when he thought of the potentially _ enormous _ leak of information from Christmas until that moment.

The biggest frustration for Harry was that none of the common Secret-Revealing Charms were providing useable evidence from the variously-shaped statues. There were only the expected fingerprints from the recipient and nearby coworkers, no traces of skin or common fibers anywhere — no maker's mark even. It was going to be hell to find the maker without using the researchers on the Domestic Resources team, but he couldn't chance such a crafty perpetrator getting wind of his investigation. Someone who wiped his trail this well... Harry might only get one chance at the perpetrator, after catching just one single clue.

Department Heads Prickle, Deverill, and even Transportation Head Percy Weasley all had figurines, as well as their senior staff as well as a few others in their support staff — scattered randomly enough throughout each floor that Harry _ knew _ he was going to drive himself mad looking through their personnel files, looking for a connection. He kept his Cloak on in Tom's department, sincerely not wanting to be disturbed by either of the two men most likely to do so, and discovered the same spread of figurines across that level as well.

Even Draco had received a green and silver-swirled Welsh Green statue, which he'd tucked away with other gifted baubles that all tested clean. Pursing his lips with indecision, (surely he should tell Draco about _this _one?) he placed a stronger Confundus on it than the others and moved on. He was protecting Draco by keeping him out of the case, he told himself. This was huge. It was worth the lies he'd undoubtedly be telling to keep him safe.

He honestly hadn't expected there to be a figurine in Peasegood's office, but he did the sweep anyway, knowing there needed to be documentation. To his surprise, there_ were _ enchanted objects throughout the entire floor of his department… an award here, a decorative vase there, even someone's official nameplate, in one instance. What intrigued Harry was that the objects didn’t show up on the same obscure Scanning Spell he’d been using in the other offices — Harry wouldn’t have known anything about them was amiss if it weren’t for the Sneakoscope nearly lurching out of his hand as he ran it over nearly everything in sight. That they were better hidden, but just as prevalent as on any other floor definitely helped support Robard’s theory that the man was being framed.

Harry saved visiting his own department until last. Hit Wizards and Aurors were both a suspicious bunch, and he preferred to only have to deal with the much less populated night shift as he went around filling out forms and stealth casting Confundus Charms. Tutala and her support staff each had one, as expected, by that point, but to Harry’s dismay, _ every Auror and Hit Wizard had received a statue except for him. _ What did it mean? Were they simply trying to stay out of his sight — wise, since Harry scanned everything he was given for fear of more cursed objects or Amortentia slipping past his defences — or was it that they thought he simply wasn’t worth Listening to? He couldn’t help but be a little offended at the snub, either way.

“Sir,” he greeted Robards once he’d canvassed the entire department, from office to office.

It was well after quitting time by that point, but Harry would have continued well into the next _ day _ if it meant Harry Potter’s invisible presence on every level of the Ministry wasn’t at risk for being noticed for a second day in a row. Robards was still in his office when he made it back to their department, leaning back in his chair and looking extremely bored.

“Ah, Auror Potter,” he said, jumping slightly. “I wanted to wait until you got back — unfortunately I finished the very last of my paperwork an hour ago. Here is my letter.”

Robard’s slid a single page of parchment across the table, and Harry took it, reading the simple two-sentence statement of recusal with a critical eye. “Thank you for waiting, sir,” Harry said as he tucked the parchment in with the heavy stack already in his hands. “I have followed up on the first floor, testing the _ new equipment_,” he informed the man, holding up the Sneakoscope.

Robards gave a tight nod, not needing more than that to understand what alibi Harry had given himself, and then the decision to proceed unseen. “Did the test go well?”

“It went off a lot,” Harry said carefully, before pitching his voice even lower. “Every floor. There were even some positives on a few personal items on level three.”

The Head Auror’s eyes flashed and his lips tightened, and Harry knew that was as big of an _ ‘I was right!’ _ display of victory as he was going to be subjected to. “Well,” Robards said next, “remember to file the paperwork correctly, and get good rest tonight. Tomorrow will be a new day.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, retreating back out of the office.

He stopped by the supply cupboard and nabbed an Expanded accordion file to store his casework in. He’d sort it into categories the next day, but he knew he needed to take Robards’ advice and get as much rest as he could. He stopped by his desk shortly before leaving to grab his winter cloak, only to find a lavender airplane flying in lazy circles above his desk.

He snatched it out of the air, wondering why it hadn’t placed itself in his inbox the way it was supposed to, only to have it unfold in his hands.

Underneath his and Tom’s back-and-forth from earlier, there was an impossibly flawless, italicized _ ‘Yes.’ _ penned underneath Harry’s scrawled _ ‘No.’ _ Tom must have sent it before they’d met earlier, Harry thought, and before Robards had chastised Harry for illegally requesting Tom’s personal information. He couldn’t help but shake his head in amazement that it had only been that morning when Tom was still nothing but a threat, the Ministry had been secure, and Harry was getting reprimanded and threatened with the possibility of losing his job.

_ ‘Now,’ _ he thought as he stared at the pale purple missive in wonder, _ ‘Tom is an ally and support — and furthermore, _ I _ kissed _ him _ — the Ministry is in jeopardy, and I am the only one allowed to know the full scope of it all.’ _ He felt overwhelmed for a moment, the toll of the last few nights of poor sleep and the unease that came from so many things in his personal life being so very far out of his control swamping him, before he slid the message into the accordion file with purpose.

_ 'Sleep,' _ he reasoned with himself scooping up the Dreamless Sleep bottle as he left. _ 'Sleep comes first. The rest of the world comes next.' _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about that scene change marker? :D
> 
> Next chapter is long and NSFW so don't read in public if you're like me and make smut faces ;)


	7. Chapter 7

# Chapter Seven

* * *

* * *

“Sir.”

Robards looked up from his paperwork, displaying all the signs that he'd not had the same peaceful night as Harry. Briefly he wondered if the man had gone home at all, or if he’d just hung around, completing incoming desk work all night, before he shook off the ridiculous thought.

“Auror Potter,” Robards said, with enough relief in his voice that Harry blinked, “you're looking well.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry agreed in a firm voice, doing his best to project level-headed stability. “I apologize for the difficulty I gave your yesterday morning, and I promise it will not happen again.”

Robards nodded slowly, to all appearances taking him at his word. “As Aurors we learn to leave the job here before we go home, but the opposite is also true… what’s personal gets left at the door to our Office. We have a great responsibility to all who the Ministry represents… and we must give them _ only _ our best. I do not want to see you so slipshod again. Understood?”

Harry gave a small, embarrassed smile and nodded his agreement before refirming his stance. “Sir, I took some time to organize all the reports and intake forms from yesterday, and with rested eyes, I came to one inescapable conclusion.”

Robards covered his face with a hand briefly before sighing. “I'm certain it is the same one I came to last night as I stared at the ceiling of my bedroom, thinking of how large the case has gotten.”

“I need help.”

Robards nodded, unsurprised. “Who did you have in mind?”

Harry hesitated. “The two smartest, most accomplished people in this Ministry, sir.”

The Head Auror frowned thoughtfully. “Undoubtedly your speak of Madam Granger and…?”

“Mister Riddle,” Harry said, wincing.

“Because you’ll already be working with him.”

“Because he showed remarkable intelligence and willingness to cooperate with me yesterday,” Harry corrected, resigned to the fact that he would have to accept Tom’s _ seriously _ positive qualities, eventually. It was the only sane thing to do.

He _ had _ proactively kissed the man, after all, and it only seemed logical that insisting he was the worst in everything would be counterproductive – especially given the fact that he'd woke that morning after a carefully scheduled night of Dreamless Sleep with the urge to seek Tom out and repeat the experience. He'd just… woken up missing the man. He didn't even care that much about being away from Draco for the next few days, (or maybe... he was looking forward to it) but this strange, _unrealistically_ flawless man had managed to do what a year together couldn’t in just a few hours.

Harry knew it was beyond the pale. He knew he was now the kind of fellow that Aunt Petunia could go on endless diatribes about – the faithless men from her drama shows, or worse: the real men who were rumored to have cheated on their wives around the neighborhood. But more terrible than just having cheated just the once: he didn't particularly want to stop this strangely energising bundle of emotions from growing (even as he was reasonably certain Tom wouldn't be interested in keeping him around for very long.)

“May I ask why am _ I _ hamstrung by my recusal yet _ they _ are to be given unfettered access to the case files?” Robards demanded, clearly insulted.

Harry bit his lip. “Nearly everyone in the Ministry has been affected by this strike, so I knew it was unavoidable to choose someone who had been targeted. Out of everyone, though, only Mr. Riddle and Hermione were aware of the listening spells and had taken steps to neutralize the problem. You did not, sir. Yes, it was in the drawer… but one could argue…”

The Head Auror’s face reddened with anger, but he did not argue further. When it all came down to the hearing, when this mess was hopefully solved and the suspects on trial, every detail _ could _ be scrutinized, however unlikely it was, with Truth Serum at the ready for a case of this magnitude. Robards keeping the statue unDeafened and close at hand for three weeks was not a good recommendation.

“Mr. Riddle and Madam Granger are fine to bring on,” Robards finally allowed. “They are good choices, my personal feelings aside. What else, Auror?”

“I need access to the Records’ stacks. I’d like to get in and out before the Guardians come in.”

Robards nodded slowly. “Of course. Use your Cloak, and don’t be seen.”

Harry was pleased that both obstacles of the morning had been hurdled with relative ease. It would have been truly difficult to retrieve the sheer amount of files he needed, over two-hundred-and-fifty, by that point, without the early, unseen access. He was looking forward to getting Hermione’s help with those at lunch.

His accordion file significantly fuller with one-hundred-ninety-eight Summoned personnel files and over seventy foreign agent profiles, Harry quickly snuck back to his desk under cover of his Invisibility Cloak to avoid the prying eyes of those who’d decided to get almost as early a start as Robards and he had.

Rounding the corner to enter is workspace, he pulled up short, jaw dropping. There, on his desk, was an overwhelmingly tall tower made up of every major magical newspaper from every country across Europe and Asia. From Britain's own _ Prophet_, _ Witch Weekly_, and _ Quibbler _ to Bulgaria’s _Магически новини._ Each non-English paper had a Translation Charm that Harry recognized immediately as the more compex one that reduced eye strain in the user compared to the others; the letters didn't jump or swim around distractingly. Whoever had done this had expended a lot of energy while doing so.

Above his desk an interdepartmental memo zoomed, refusing to settle down and join the rest in his inbox until he'd grabbed it.

_ ‘I cast another few spells for you.’ _ it read simply. There was no signature, but by that point it would have been superfluous; Harry knew it was Tom.

Harry looked behind him at the one enchanted window the Auror Office laid claim to and saw it was still dark out, without even a hint of the sun on the horizon. The newspapers were dated that very day, though they couldn't have been delivered so early through normal post – being the Head of International Cooperation must come with advance copies, or perhaps Tom had sent in a special request the day before, just for Harry. And then dozens of magic-draining Charms.

He was being _wooed_.

He walked around his desk, sitting down calmly as his heart beat a staccatto rhythm in his chest. His eyes drifted from the papers back to the blackened window lit only by clustered stars. It was still so early... the Ministry would be a ghost town. What had Tom said yesterday? '_This _time of day is too dangerous,' or something like that? What about early mornings? Would Tom press the issue at five A.M.? Hands shaking with newfound excitement, he scribbled off a quick memo on a new sheet of paper.

'Auror Potter to visit Dept. Head Riddle when convenient’ flew off towards the lifts, and Harry set to work filling out the various non-disclosure and employee transfer forms he'd received the previous day. He needed to have a reason to visit, after all.

The return missive came on a fresh memo, with only _ ‘Come.’ _ written in its center. Flushing, and embarrassingly aroused by a single word, Harry burned the paper, thinking it was far too revealing a piece of evidence. He knew then that Tom knew already exactly what was on his mind. (Or maybe it _never_ left Tom's mind, and only just then Harry was jumping on the same train.)

The elevator was empty from second floor to fifth. Harry encountered no one else down the hall; only his footsteps kept him company up the stairs and into the wide room filled with cubicles that Tom's office door oversaw. Harry was typically an early riser whenever he worked a case (which was nearly constantly since he'd proven himself a quick solve) but this _predawn_ level of stillness was new, even to him. It was odd to be so alone, but he liked it. It felt like his very presence was a secret he and the building were sharing.

And Tom, now, too.

The man was waiting for him just inside the doorway and closed the door behind Harry without saying a word. At the signaling _'snik'_ of the latch clicking into place, Tom was pressing Harry into the door, hands gentle but no less greedy as they trailed along his sides and down the front of his thighs.

“Good morning, darling. Did you get my present?”

“Yes,” Harry breathed. The way Tom had spoken the nickname was different. Less a targeted attack and more of a vocal caress. His longfingered hands slid back up, fingers digging in deliciously as they rose up towards Harry's pelvis, then rerouted to grip the nearby hips in place.

“You smell amazing,” was murmured into Harry's neck next. “May I taste you?”

“We need to talk,” Harry refuted, voice husky. “I came officially.”

“Not yet, you haven't,” Tom taunted, one hand moving to ghost over the hardness that had been growing almost as soon as he'd made the decision to come down to the fifth floor — the touch a silent challenge. “Just a taste, darling… only because you smell so very good. Then business.”

The familiar formula ran through Harry's blood like rich, heated honey. This was what he had needed. To be convinced, still. To pretend he'd held out for a few more seconds.

“Just a taste?”

Harry felt Tom’s smile grow against his neck, then a warm, open-mouth kiss was pressed into the skin there.

“Of course. It’s not much… just a little taste… please?”  
  
Begging sounded so good when Tom did it.

“You promise?” Harry breathed.

Tom grinned like a shark, hungry and dominant. “Of course.”

Harry knew Tom's features well enough by that point to see the lie there, and he groaned, cock filling further in anticipation. He didn’t really care how far it went. He wanted it all, one step after the other, just like before.

“Yes.”

Tom surged over him, taking Harry's kiss for himself and plundering his mouth and tongue for more. Both of their hands tangled and knocked into each other as they both tried to undo the bottom fastenings of Harry's Auror robes until Tom finally growled and yanked Harry's hands away, pressing them into the door on either side of his head.

“Keep them there,” Tom ordered, before setting himself back to the task of opening Harry up.

“There's no way I'll be able to when you — er, taste me,” Harry said, almost saying ‘fuck’ and giving away the fact that he knew Tom would take further liberties.

Holding his arms still was a struggle already as Tom mouthed his neck, careful not to leave marks as he concentrated on melting his voluntarily trapped prize. When Tom returned to his mouth, lapping softly at the tip of Harry's tongue with his own, Harry whined with increasing need.

“Give me control, Harry,” Tom whispered hotly into his lips, hands busy opening fastenings. “I can't take it, you have to decide. Let go. Trust me.”

“How?” Harry cried as Tom's hand wormed into the opening he'd made and slipped around his cock.

“Do as I say,” Tom murmured, stroking slowly enough to qualify as the world’s largest tease, “for no reason other than because I asked.”

“Oh, fuck," Harry said, blinking with head-clearing shock. "Am I... going to need a safeword?”

Tom laughed into his hair. “Just say 'no,' darling,” he crooned. “Just this once I will listen. But don't say it if you don't absolutely mean it or else you'll be discussing business with _ this _ –” He gave Harry's cock a particularly rough stroke down, then that familiar twist up on the head, ignoring his eager victim’s resultant cry and squirm. “— and we’ll both be _ so _ disappointed.”

Tom went down to his knees, freeing Harry's erection from his pants and half-opened robes. “Yes?” he asked challengingly.

Harry's vision blurred slightly at the sight before him: Tom, as refined and impeccable as always, brows raised and a look so condescending on his face Harry might as well have been crawling at _ his _ feet, for how menial it made him feel... and on his _ knees_, his salmon-pink lips barely two centimeters away from Harry's leaking cockhead.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he whispered, to all of it and all the extra things he knew were coming down the line. Fuck _ games_; he just wanted Tom on his knees, forever. It was such a power trip: to Harry, Tom was nigh the ideal man, and there he was, set to serve Harry. _Wanting_ to. It made Tom's comment the day before make a _shit-ton _of sense. It wasn't about subservience... having Tom willing and mischievous on the floor at his feet... he'd never wanted any one person this much before in his life.

Tom's perfect white teeth flashed, entirely too pleased with Harry's capitulation, before that smart mouth descended warm and _ squeezing _ and wet around his shaft.

“Oh, holy hell,” Harry groaned. Tom's tongue flickered across the sensitive underside of his head while he sucked Harry down and then used his lips to nibble at Harry's leaking slit when he drew back for breath. Every motion — deep or shallow in Tom's mouth — was filled with sensations that made it absolutely impossible for Harry to be bored for a single second. Holy _fuck_, Tom was a _pro._

“Merlin, it's been _ so long,_” he moaned, reveling in the slick, slow glide of Tom’s mouth as the man began taking him even deeper, swallowing around him, his throat muscles adding an extra caress to the action. He'd never felt comfortable with the phrase 'sexual healing' before, but he definitely felt his problems melt away with every sucking pulse Tom freely gave his cock. When both of Tom's hands snuck up the bottom of Harry's robe to fully pull down his trousers and massage his ass cheeks apart, Harry spread his legs without needing any further encouragement.

“That's not 'just a taste,'” he noted, breath hitching, but since he'd known and hoped it was coming he could only smile knowingly down at the sneaky man. Tom seemed surprised by his expression, but quickly recovered, pulling off and sending a cocky smile of his own back, laying his head against Harry's bare thigh and staring up at him with an intensity that took Harry's breath away.

“Just a couple of fingers,” he explained, pausing for a moment to mouth back up the side of Harry’s cock as he continued their game. “It's all the same thing, really,” he murmured into Harry's damp flesh.

“No, it's not,” Harry disagreed, pleasure and need making his voice too fond. “Do you need me to cast the spell?”

It was Tom's turn to moan, then, momentarily pressing his dry fingers too firmly against Harry as he did. “I wanted you so badly that night,” he confessed after going ahead and casting the spell that enabled oil-wet fingers to return to their steady teasing himself. “I wanted you as soon as I saw you standing there, as proud and lonely as a king standing over his disappointing, _insouciant_ subjects.”

His finger pressed in, and Harry's arms came away from the door before he forced them back into place with twin thuds. “There’s a Silencing Charm on the door, right?” Harry gasped then, moaning throughout as Tom's fingers twisted and pumped inside him.

“Trust,” Tom commanded, and so Harry did, letting his breathy sighs and moans fill the room. “Look at you, Harry, so eager, so _willing_ for me. Were you afraid the hunt would end when you gave in? That my interest would fade? Well, you have, and _I'm still here_.”

Harry nearly _ screamed _ as Tom swallowed him down again, the emotional reaction he was having to the words mixing with the very physical reaction he had to the man sucking his cock all the way down into his throat, _swallowing_ and fucking him with his fingers until the combination threw him, keening with joy, over the cliff.

“That's it,” Tom encouraged, withdrawing his fingers but continuing to use his hand to stroke him though the rest of his release. Harry's legs weakened and he slid down the door without really meaning to. When Tom spoke again, his eyes were focused on Harry's lengthening arms — his wrists stubbornly pinned where he had been ordered to place them. “You may have your hands back, if you wish.”

Harry dropped them, feeling the ache in his shoulders and biceps intensify the moment he did. He crossed his arms, rubbing them both, and grunted at the tender feel. Tom rose, the next few minutes of their share future spelled out clearly in his eyes as he licked Harry's come off his middle finger. It wasn't suggestive so much as a full-blown _declaration_.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed, enjoying the sight. Suddenly, his sore muscles mattered very little.

Tom Vanished the remainder with a spell.

“You'll forgive me for not eating the rest, darling.”

“Arrogant arse,” Harry said, shaking his head. “So, are you going to fuck me now, or what?”

“No,” Tom said, smirking. “_You_ are going to fuck _me_. In my chair where you refused to sit on my lap, yesterday.”

Harry laughed outright, and Tom grinned smugly right back at him. “Oh my God, you really are an asshole.”

“And yet, you're still here,” Tom murmured, wrapping his hand around Harry's slowly softening prick. “Spent — _ sated_, dare I imagine — and still not running.”

“Shh…” Harry hushed, “don't ruin it.” He still wanted to hang on to his idea of being convinced into this a little while longer...

“Does this feel like ruining it?” Tom demanded, squeezing Harry's spongy erection and tugging along its length from root to tip.

“Mmm, it's definitely better,” Harry agreed, helpfully pushing himself through the other man's hand until he felt he was no longer in danger of losing his hardness. “Chair?”

“Finally,” Tom said, rolling his eyes.

“Impatient, too,” Harry mumbled, shucking off his shoes and then pulling his trousers and pants fully off as well, his shirt still on and his opened robes flapping around his ankles.

“Come, darling, sit right down on me,” Tom ordered in a smooth voice.

“Yes, sir,” Harry responded cheekily. Tom hadn't wasted any time, his cock was out and proud, with the man's trousers still on and his hand holding the base in a tight grip. It was a little odd that Tom was essentially completely dressed while Harry's ass and legs were completely bare, but he mentally shrugged it away, preferring to get fucked than judge the state of Tom's clothing.

Tom rolled his eyes. “I’d rather hear a pet name from your lips, instead,” he said, stopping Harry when he might have sat back-to-front and pulling him in so Harry would straddle him face-to-face.

“I have it on good authority that most – um – dominant men get a little thrill out of not allowing the use of their names, pet or otherwise,” Harry replied, emotionally cautious about the intimate position even as his body reacted differently: running his hands over Tom's clothed chest, greedily feeling the ripples and contours there that spoke of a _very_ healthy male, before venturing lower.

“I have played such games before and enjoyed them,” Tom admitted, leaning back slightly as Harry let his hands curl around Tom's gloriously thick cock for the first time, “but I don't feel that I need that from you.”

“No?” Harry asked, leaning forward and nipping at Tom's earlobe, letting his breath wash over the area as he did, wanting to drive Tom just as crazy as he always felt. He ran his fingers over Tom's erection, feeling the soft skin covering stone-hard flesh... and a few odd indentations that Harry thought might be veins.

“For you to truly submit you would have to admit your feelings for me,” Tom informed him, his breath picking up satisfactorily. “That’s what’s holding you back.”

Harry tensed. “Tom…”

“’Don't ruin it,’” Tom quoted Harry, eyes tight and voice slightly mocking as he pulled Harry harshly against him, their cocks pressing together deliciously as Tom slipped a quick finger into Harry's loosened hole.

Harry moaned, stumbling into Tom's embrace and then tilting his ass back against the intrusion greedily. “What do you think,” he gasped as another finger was added, “am I ready for you?”

Tom snorted. “I don't know, are you?” he asked rhetorically, reaching behind Harry to position himself and then thrusting up, breaching just past the first ring of muscles and cruelly going no further. Harry hadn't even seen him slick up, but the smooth entry indicated he'd done so.

“Tom!” Harry protested when the man stilled. Rebelliously, he shoved himself down and was surprised when Tom let him do it.

“That’s the ticket, darling,” Tom said, smirking even as he raised his eyebrows innocently. “_You're _ fucking _ me_. Otherwise, it'll be just the tip again, and I won't relent even if you beg.”

“Asshole,” Harry declared, but he rocked himself back and forth anyway, humming with glee as Tom's cockhead seemed to swirl inside him with the motion.

“That's it, yes…” Harry sighed as he began to lift and fall, bending his head to press his cheek against Tom's temple and hooking both hands behind the man's nape for stability.

“Good, darling,” Tom praised tightly, thighs tightening rhythmically under Harry as if he was struggling not to take back control of the slow pace. “Take what you need from me – you feel so good…”

“Oh, God, fuck…” Harry whimpered pitifully. 

Needing more, he shoved himself down harder for a few bounces, _ loving _ the way Tom’s thickness could touch him so deeply. Then, needing less, he lifted up with just the tips of his toes that could reach the ground so that Tom's shaft could enter him _ just _ enough to hit directly on his prostate and not travel further.

When the friction of Tom’s cockhead repetively shoving itself past his rim began to detract from the experience, he went back to lifting fully up and letting his weight force Tom’s excruciating width as deep as it would go. It was all so perfect — until Tom opened his mouth.

“That’s good, baby, teach me what y—”

Harry's hand shot out, cutting off Tom's sickening encouragement at the source: his throat.

“Don't call me that!” Harry blurted, nausea rising and his other hand clamping over his mouth before he became aware of what had happened. He immediately froze once he realized where his other hand had gone, peeling back his fingers from Tom's pressure-whitened skin in horrified disbelief. He turned his hand over to look at his palm, confused at just how over the top he'd reacted to such a small thing. Upon hearing Tom cough and seeing his neck begin to pinken, Harry shrank in on himself, anticipating Tom’s _well_ justified wrath.

“Harry,” Tom finally said, voice frigid and hands flexing against Harry's hips like he was consciously holding himself back from clawing angrily into them. “What the fuck was that.”

“I — don't... exactly know," he replied truthfully. Why did he act that way now, with Tom, and yet had laid neutered of his strength below _ Draco_? How on Earth did _that _make sense?

“Oh, yeah?” Tom spat back, visibly irate. “Well, I think you know exactly what that was. And I think it had to do with _last fucking Friday_!”

“Tom…”

“No, Harry. You think I don't get a copy of every crime report that spans international borders? You think I don't do my duty to defend our citizens in the international courts – that I haven't come to know the signs _ you keep displaying_? We talk about this _now_, Harry.”

“I'm so sorry for hurting you. I didn't — _don't_ — want to ruin it,” Harry pleaded, gesturing to their connected bodies. "Any more than… _ attacking _ you already has."

“Harry,” Tom said, a calming note of reprimand in his voice, “I don't — it was self-defense…-_ish_. You were clearly sickened by what I called you. It wouldn't be _right_ to continue.”

“But _ you _ could still finish, Tom, and it would make me feel a lot better if you did, honestly. Please don't let me ruin this.”

Tom looked at him with partial disgust, and the rest was all horror. “What the fuck can of worms have we just opened? Harry, you’re not ruining anything right now.”

“It’s just… I know that sometimes it can take awhile to get into the mood –”

“I have shown you at every available opportunity how you affect me –”

“Stop lying to me!” Harry whisper-shouted, giving into the urge to claw his face just enough to press his fingertips against his cheekbones.

"I haven't," Tom said, infuriatingly calm, eyebrows slightly raised in reproach, eyes on Harry’s fingers. "I haven't yet, not even _once_, and I plan to keep it that way, in case you were wondering."

"You lied when it when you said it would be just a kiss on the cheek," Harry accused. "That's all you said it would be, and then we —"

"I asked you," Tom refuted, still calm but becoming even more stern, beginning to lose control again. "I asked you at every step of the way and you said yes. Or you fucked your_self _ on me and took what you wanted. Don't deny it! I'm _so f_—" 

Tom took a breath, wrestling himself back from spilling the expletive that Harry knew had been coming out of his mouth next. "I am becoming weary of you continuing to pretend you do not want this as much as I do," Tom continued dangerously.

Harry snorted, his anxiety making way for resentment. "Give me a break, Tom. I know what I am to you. And I've done the research. Almost none of the relationships founded in adultery survive. Those are the statistics. The facts."

So caught up in spitting out defences, he didn't realize Tom was reaching for his face until he'd already been caught in that now-familiar hold. 

"You ‘_know what you are_’ to me?" he whispered harshly, leaning close, but not touching Harry's mouth with his own. Instead, his thumb slid over to press against Harry's slightly parted lips instead, rolling it against them slowly, up and down, so the taste of his skin invaded the front of Harry's mouth with every gentle repetition.

"You _ know_, and yet you still choose the man with lesser regard than I? No, you can’t possibly know what you are to me. Maybe _ you _ are the one who's just been caught in a lie, Harry."

He nearly whimpered at the sound of his name caressed by that smooth, tenor voice. Draco may be the one to use feminizing potions on him, but Tom, with such a simple touch… the taste of his skin… the heat, persistently hard and unignorable inside Harry’s body… and his name, spoken with such tenderness, had completely unmanned him. Instead of tearing away his defences like Draco did, Tom made _him_ want to throw them all in the garbage, just to bring them closer.

"I told you what I thought of you that very first time you gave yourself to me, on our balcony, in your boyfriend's Manor," Tom continued, laying out the details of Harry's shame as if they were something one could be proud of, as if he _ relished _ those specific circumstances as a coveted achievement. "Far be it from _ you _ to listen and judge my actions on their own — no, you must concoct stories in your head where I am the villain and you are the victim!”

“I’m not a victim,” Harry hissed, incensed beyond measure, corpulent shadows from his past rising up in the back of his mind to cavort alongside his triggered reaction to the word ‘_baby_.’

“You are making yourself the victim in this situation by continuing to insist that you didn't want it," Tom corrected, fingers tightening on his face minutely, his breath fanning over Harry’s face in a way that made his stomach clench with a need to close the distance and _ taste_. "That you don't want it still, trembling again as you are in my grasp, clenching around me. You are perhaps the most capable and strongest man in the whole of the DMLE, of course I am not speaking _ generally_, you misguided little _fool_."

Harry's last shred of resistance was weakening. Within the hold that remained resolutely gentle as if what Tom held was beyond all value — even while angered. Under the onslaught of Tom talking about _ feelings _ while Harry himself was _ far _ beyond vulnerable. Even the little crack in Tom's voice as he insulted Harry, as if _ Harry _ was the one causing _ him _ distress. 

Harry's walls were breaking down, but not in the way that would make him cross the remaining distance for a kiss, or see what pleasures he could chase if he began to bounce on Tom’s cock again.

No… it was a breaking in the way that crumbled his resolve to guard his trust, his heart. It was the kind of crumbling that would destroy him completely if he let himself go and everything he'd _ known _ about Tom just two days previous turned out to be true.

"Tell me, Harry, that you've ever felt this way about anyone else,” Tom murmured, voice cajoling more demolition out of Harry’s guard. Tell me if you've ever felt this way about your ‘_Draco_,’ even in the beginning, when things were new and exciting. Tell me that I'm not the only one in the entire world you've ever wanted so absolutely."

"Still so full of yourself,” Harry murmured, _ succumbing_. “Once you’ve won, you’ll lose interest. Once the taboo is gone, you won't feel this way.”

One of Tom’s hands moved down to curl around Harry’s throat to repay the violence Harry'd given with the gentlest of owning touches while the other lifted from his jaw to stroke the soft, stubble-free portion of Harry's upper cheek with slow strokes.

“You are mistaken again, Harry,” Tom said, in just as hushed and private a tone as Harry’s. “The sneaking and the taboo are the part that I hate _ most _ about this.”

Harry groaned out some variation of ‘fuck it,’ and pressed himself firmly into Tom’s hold. Their mouths crashed messily until Tom seized Harry’s head between his palms and gentled it, not letting Harry escalate the contact into the desperate lust-driven experience he was after.

“No hiding,” Tom demanded, unfairly composed as Harry panted in his face. “You want this.”

“Yes,” Harry said, just managing to control himself so that he didn’t whine or sob like a child being denied a treat.

“You want me.”

Harry gritted his teeth, then released the tension. “Yes.”

Tom’s grin was growing, achievement shining in his eyes. “You want me the _ most_.”

It was breaking. The last chain holding back the truth. The last chain holding Harry’s denial firmly in place around what he knew, he’d known even the day he’d watched Tom walk away the day he surprised Draco for lunch. He’d come to see his boyfriend, but the real loss was the man he barely knew, leaving him alone with his lover.

It was breaking, breaking…

Of_ course _ he wanted Tom. He may have even been 'in love' with him, with the accompanying potential to be harmed forever by his loss. He not only wanted Tom, there was a part of him that might even sincerely _ need _him.

“Yes,” he finally said, shame and release sweeping through him in equal measure. His breath did hitch in a genuine sob then, and Tom used the hold on his skull to bring him in to kiss the corners of his eyes, wetting his lips with the tears trapped there.

“I want to know what he did to you,” Tom whispered against his skin, all demand and arrogance gone in the blink of Harry’s tear-filled eyes.

“I can’t talk about it. It’s too embarrassing,” Harry refuted, squinching his eyes against the burning... but the tears crept out anyway, the release feeling so terrible and good at the same time.

“Embarrassing? Or frightening?”

“I’m frightened of what others – you — would think of me. Nothing was illegal. Everything was consensual. It only happened over the weekend... well, except for — _it wasn’t even violent_!”

“Harry,” Tom whispered, his hold on Harry's face having survived through rage, surrender, and tears and continuing to do so through Harry’s sudden fear. “Even if it wasn’t illegal, we both know _he himself_ said it _ hurt_. It’s obviously affected you badly. You should tell me – or someone like your Madam Granger – for no other reason than to get an outside perspective.”

Harry swayed in Tom's hold, dizzy at the thought that Draco's actions might not be in his best interest.

“I can’t say it. I can’t tell you. You don’t like Draco and want me to leave him already.”

Tom’s grip tightened at the practically _obscene_ show of loyalty, rounded fingernails digging in painfully before the man jerked his hands away. Harry felt their loss as a pang of self-recrimination.

“I want you to leave Malfoy because he does not give you the care nor the attention you need as his romantic partner. Because he_ hurts _ you… I knew that before I knew he also harms your physical body." Harry grimaced, pulling away, and Tom gently urged his chin back around, holding his face close.

"I told you I saw you as a king, three weeks ago," he said, voice soft and explanatory. "Where was your beaux, my liege? Flitting amongst the careless, completely unwitting, or worse, un_caring _ of the burdens he'd stacked upon your head. A king such as yourself needs another king, to share the burden.”

“And where do you place yourself in this story?” Harry retorted, a little of the bitterness Tom had sown towards Draco showing in his voice, then. “Surely, you would describe yourself as that other king.”

“A conqueror,” Tom said, grinning unrepentantly, then he shrugged. “I don't particularly care to debate the minutiae of a feeling I had while under the influence of you brooding in dress robes.”

Harry felt the apparent effect of the mental image pulse inside him, and shook his head in weakening disbelief. “How can you still be interested in me? I cried just now. That's about as pathetic as it gets. Shouldn't you be shunting me off to the friend-zone — _ best_-case scenario — instead of… becoming aroused?”

“Does it displease you?” Tom asked, dragging a feather light finger over Harry's own member, which had needed no further encouragement other than Tom's own interest to begin filling again.

“Uh, no,” Harry said, then smiled slightly at how he had managed a condescending tone not too dissimilar to Tom's own. “Only – what is this, between us? I've never felt so out of control of my life until I met you, that night on the balcony.”

“Losing control doesn't have to be so bad,” Tom said, that smooth tone he used when he was trying to be suave coloring his voice as he ringed Harry's wrists with his thumb and forefinger and spread them to either side of their combined lap. Harry flushed, remembering how _ compelling _ intentionally holding his wrists against the door had been. “It doesn't have to _be_ anything yet, Harry. I have plenty of experience with exercising patience, and submission is not something I take by force, only desire.”

A slow roll of his hips accompanied the last two words and Harry felt the combined effect keenly, riding the wave of it with his wrists still held in Tom's deliberately weak grasp.

“Is this normal?” Harry half groaned, wanting to do more than just squirm ineffectually but also feeling more vulnerable than he had in years – since before Hogwarts and learning basic Defense, he thought. He hadn’t felt so _destructible_ since the Dursleys had been his entire world. Tom's unforced hold on him was such a complicated thing for Harry to understand, but it helped him understand what Tom wanted, and how safe it was. At the moment... he needed safety.

“Is what normal?” Tom asked with another roll that Harry rode with a broken trill of a noise. “Me simply working feeling back into my sleeping legs – courtesy of you, my dear?”

Harry gasped in indignation — Tom most certainly was _ not_ going to pretend the effect he was having was only in Harry's head — only for another two rolls quickly proceeding each other to derail that thread of emotion entirely in favor of not falling off and potentially going empty for a single second.

“Let me ask you a question instead,” Tom said seriously as he opened his hands. Harry’s wrists stubbornly rested on the curve between thumb and finger; he was not interested in quitting that part of the game yet. “Do you feel unsafe?”

“Only when I think about going out that door in a few minutes – or what’s outside that door coming in,” Harry said, pressing his wrists down into the meat of Tom’s palm purposefully, smiling when the fingers obediently curled back around him. 

Until recently, his relationship with Draco had always been a mutual exchange of passionate aggression. He liked the way it was just the opposite with Tom. There was something about feeling utterly helpless that he'd never liked before… but Tom made him feel like he'd _ beg _ to sign over his very soul, just for another touch… deeper, harder, faster...

“The door is locked, as it always is at five o'clock in the morning, as I compare the international news with my employees' schedules. They know not to interrupt or I might hand them the most boring grunt work that arose overnight.”

Harry chuckled at the half-lidded, smug look on the other man’s face, reminding him of Tom's ‘king surveying his subjects’ metaphor quite strongly.

“About going out into the world yourself – I have nothing to give you except the promise that I will still be here, waiting, if you need a dose of surrender — or whatever assistance I’m allowed to give with your case.”

“Can we talk and screw at the same time?” Harry asked, _ almost _ managing to not whine. “Because we need to talk about that — but I _ want_.”

“What a beautiful expression,” Tom commented, gazing over Harry's face idly before giving a surprise snap up with his hips. “What did you wish to say next, darling?” he asked, speaking over Harry’s shocked grunt.

“I asked Robards for outside assistance on the case.”

Another roll came then, large enough to unbalance and send Harry tumbling forward onto Tom’s chest again. His predatory grin as Harry looked up from his fallen position indicated the move had been entirely on purpose. “Me. You asked for me.”

“You’re entirely too arrogant,” Harry reminded him unnecessarily. Tom’s shit-eating grin was far too large to be knocked down a peg by such a humor-ridden accusation. “You know, _Robards_ guessed Hermione first.”

Tom slid them further down in his chair until Harry could remain in place, yet also get his feet fully on the floor, and then shrugged his shoulders negligently. “You’ve known her your entire magical life. In Robards’ eyes, you've known me one day. It only makes sense.”

“I am asking her for help too,” Harry panted, little noises of emotionally-charged pleasure accompanying the words as he moved over Tom as had been so obviously suggested. His hands were still held in that entirely breakable grip and it was a real challenge to fuck himself on Tom's length without accidentally pulling out of his fingers.

“Good, you can talk with her about last Friday during your first meeting.”

“Ugh. That’s in a few hours — mm, right there, push up, _yes_ — for lunch.”

“You need it. Before you go near him again, you need it.”

“And what about going near you? I’m, _ fuck_, going to tell her about _you_, you know.”

“Don’t talk about my size.”

Harry burst out into laughter broken apart by sporadic grunts and keening sounds of need. “Won’t. Close…”

“Can you come just by my cock this time, no helping hands?”

“Oh, yes, so close… hold me harder… don’t let go,” Harry begged as his cock began to get that amazing, swelling pulse just before –

He groaned, loud and guttural as he fucked himself unevenly onto Tom’s lap, making a mindless fight out of straining against the man’s surprisingly capable grip as translucent spurts of come ruined Tom's expensive robes. His whole body clenched and shuddered through his release, and he fell onto his mess, shaking and exhausted at its conclusion. As he snuggled into Tom’s neck, the man let go of his wrists to grip onto his hips instead, slamming upwards into him and working soft cries and moans out of him before the rhythm stuttered and soothing warmth spread throughout Harry's overused hole.

“Was that okay?” Harry asked, lazily fingering his cum into patterns on the fabric over Tom’s chest as the man settled, panting. “Even after the…?”

“I think it was better for it,” Tom said, considering. “There was a… connection. _ Feelings_.”

Harry mouthed at Tom’s neck, finally letting his weight fully settle onto the man underneath him. He felt arms come up around him and hold him tight, and he felt so _ comfortable_, there. Tom was right. However scary and humiliating his reaction to ‘baby’ had been, the resultant conversation had worked wonders to ease the perpetual tension and lack of trust Harry felt around the man. Tom hadn’t eviscerated him... even though Harry had _literally_ choked the speech out of him during a sexual game where _Tom_ was supposed to have control. How safe he felt right then… he could stay snuggled up on Tom’s lap forever.

“I’ll talk to her. I can do it,” Harry said then, freshly determined.

Tom slowly released his hold around his waist, giving Harry plenty enough time to protest if that was what he wished to do. Instead, Harry retrieved his wand from his robe pocket and swished a few Cleaning, Freshening, and Tidying Charms over the both of them.

“I didn’t think you would know so many,” Tom said, amused at the variety of spells that Harry used to target each category of disarray.

“Well, it sort of came with the territory. With You-Know-Who, and all.”

Tom lifted one disapproving eyebrow. “Too afraid to say his name, Harry?”

Harry paused, having been about to stand up. “I find myself curiously invested in your emotional state,” he said blandly after a moment, completing the motion and setting Tom’s softening cock free, trying not to notice the regret he felt at losing it from inside his body. “I figured mentioning him by name might upset you.”

When Tom’s wand appeared and pointed at Harry’s leaking hole, Harry’s hand turned the point away before he’d thought the action through.

“Er — don’t,” Harry said, blushing.

“It’s messy,” Tom said, as if stating the obvious.

“Er… yeah. I like it, so...”

Tom’s eyes blazed with possession and desire. “If we didn’t have a Ministry to save and careers to protect, I’d bend you over that desk right now, darling.”

“Well,” Harry said, mouth pursing as the time they’d spent — not _ wasted_, definitely — suddenly caught up with him. “I'd like to get started discussing that ‘Ministry saving’ subject as soon as possible… now that the _ important _ carnal things are out of the way,” Harry finished as dryly as he could manage.

To his great pleasure, Tom actually laughed at that. The odd swelling of joy he felt in response was far too strong for such a simple thing, and yet Harry already knew he’d chase it again the next opportunity he had. 

Damn, he was in such huge trouble.

“Let’s get a Healing Balm on you first,” Tom ordered, still shaking his head. “I was inside you for a very long time… without it you will be looser than advisable for the rest of the day.”

“Will you put it on me? So no spot goes missed… of course.”

Tom gave him an assessing look as he Summoned a nondescript ceramic jar. “Are you propositioning me already? I wouldn’t think you’d be ready for another go.”

Harry stilled, uncertainty freezing his blood and making him recall the singular moment the denial and doubt had broken away, leaving him vulnerable to this very hurt. “I’m sorry. I had thought that casual flirting would be welcomed. If that's not what you mean to imp–”

A hand covered his mouth. “It is. I thought it an honest offer. I will be fingering you at your request, after all.”

Harry flushed, before feeling an absurd relief that it was only mild embarrassment he felt instead of the awful shame-humiliation-guilt combination that had been haunting his every waking moment for the past three weeks.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind if it was a – er – sexy Healing Balm application, but you’re right, shop’s probably closed for now,” he agreed, feeling his cheeks heat.

Tom tilted his head, amused. “You'resweet. I keep forgetting. Alright, let’s see what I’ve done to you, then.”

“Over the desk, then?” Harry asked with clear suggestion in his voice, and an active eye on Tom’s response.

Only, Tom was watching him too, and so instead of inspiring heat in the man, apparently Harry only had garnered a desire to quell his fears. “You're fine, Harry.” Then, a slow smirk spread across his lips. “Now, lift your robes over your waist, place your hands on either side of you on my desk, and spread your legs, darling,” he purred, voice thick with meaning.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so much better at that than me,” Harry breathed, his penis twitching on pure instinctive reflex, rather than from anything productive that might lead to another erection. Even knowing it had been a purposefully outrageous suggestion, he still followed it out to the letter, struggling to keep from laughing as he did so.

“I put all my effort into seducing you, and all you can do is giggle,” Tom sighed, slipping a finger down the spread open cleft of Harry’s ass in a deliberate tease.

“Maybe you've fucked me silly,” Harry said, looking over his shoulder and deliberately bending lower, sinking until his chest was pressed to the desk and his hands were spread as far as he could reach without knocking Tom’s papers off.

“Yes,” Tom breathed, pushing a balm-coated finger so easily into Harry that he had his strongest _ ‘I am an utter whore,' _ moment of his life. He was so loose that Tom’s finger slid in with zero resistance whatsoever; it was _ridiculous_. “Exactly this. Exactly this picture. You on my desk, spread out, my fingers stretching you open…”

“The opposite of what’s happening now,” Harry pointed out as he felt his flesh heal and his muscles tighten around the healing touch of Tom’s index finger.

“Yes,” he chuckled in agreement, and Harry turned his head to hide his enjoyment at making Tom laugh again. “Oh, darling, I could stand here feeling you forever… but I guess the Ministry does need saving.” He removed his finger and after a hasty Cleaning Charm at his own hand, swatted Harry’s bum, making him yelp at the unexpected sting.

“That’s for being so tempting,” Tom said sternly, only his burgundy-brown eyes giving away his amusement.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, fluttering his eyelashes innocently. “I’m sure it’s all my fault and not the handsome devil himself who's been so very obnoxiously turning my head.”

“Hmm,” Tom intoned ambiguously. “Might just be,” he agreed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on Harry’s lips before straightening back up with a visible priority shift. “Alright. Get your clothes back on and run me through the main considerations so far.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry agreed, finding it surprisingly easy to also switch modes and treat his lover as his superior — even while half naked and leaking his cum.

Perhaps it was the same instinct that had led him to leave his wrists in Tom’s open hands, he mused. In Harry's eyes... he was worthy of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest sex scene ever. o.O More than half of it wasn't even sex 😂 No worries... I am not in the habit of interrupting sex with unsexy conversation (most of the time 🧐)
> 
> Still though... progress! (Or is it... 🤔)


	8. Chapter 8

# Chapter Eight

* * *

* * *

Before he left Tom's office, he was gifted with a kiss slow enough to warm his – well, that same part of his chest that was not his heart – for the rest of the day, and a Wit-Sharpening Potion.

“To reduce any lingering effects from the emotional aspect of our time together,” he said before even showing it to Harry. “It does not affect your intelligence, just removes clutter. It might help your conversation with Madam Granger go smoother.”

“Did you think I would be insulted?” Harry asked, pleased to be the amused one for once. “I know what a Wit-Sharpening Potion is.”

Tom shrugged, looking uncomfortably caught. “Most people assume it is a slight on their intelligence, to be offered one.”

“No, I'm practically defenseless right now; I appreciate it. Though, I am wondering why you didn't offer it to me _ before _ I briefed you,” Harry said, first grateful, then wry.

“I was the one who knocked your defenses down, why would I encourage you to put them all back up?” Tom murmured, coming close for another kiss. “It's absurdly counter-productive.”

“Mm,” Harry hummed, enjoying how soft and warm Tom's lips were against his own. Even when not taken apart by lust it was a pleasure to be this close, to enjoy the manner Tom's mouth moved against his, as unique as the man himself. As uncomfortable as it had been to get there, he realized he’d actually _ miss _ the vulnerability once the potion had taken it away again. Tom curled around him, safe and warm, and he wanted to stay there.

“Are you sure the shop is closed?” Tom asked with a soft lick into Harry's mouth that thrilled all the way down to his toes.

“Are you sure you don't want both of us to be caught and be internationally disgraced and lose our jobs and most likely be sentenced with a myriad of horrific public sex crimes?” Harry mocked lightly, curling his fingers into the hair at the back of Tom's neck for the first time with the curious feeling that he was crossing some unspoken line.

However, Tom didn't seem to mind his over-familiar hands.

“Mm, scratch while I think about it,” Tom mumbled, tilting his head to give Harry better access. 

“Don't want to mess up your fancy hair,” Harry demurred as he complied, touched by the acceptance.

“Just not the top,” Tom agreed, sinking his head down onto Harry's shoulder with a sigh. A few seconds of dutiful skritching later his voice came again, “I like you.”

Harry's throat squeezed. “I've gotten that impression. I'm sorry.”

Tom straightened up, looking down his nose at Harry. “Don't be. Of the two before you, _I_ am the better option and you like me too. It's only a matter of time and patience... and I've gotten good at playing the long game.”

Harry's nose wrinkled at the blatant arrogance that comment revealed and Tom smirked at the expression. “Take your potion and go, darling. Any later and your Draco might have finally crawled out of bed to work.”

“Cool it,” Harry muttered, reading the dose recommendations of the side of the bottle before complying.

“Not: ‘don’t ruin it?’” Tom asked, backing away from him as a sharp, stabbing sensation started in the back of his head where it met the neck and spread outwards from there, spreading ice and tension.

“Oh, I don’t like that,” Harry said shuddering in revulsion.

“Hmm.”

Harry tilted his head from side to side as he got used to the cold clarity running through him, feeling even more focused than he’d been that morning. “Why are you being so weird?” he asked the silent and removed form of Tom, shaking his arms out and Summoning his files which in his distracted state he’d left behind.

“Your mind is clear of clutter,” Tom said, his back straight and eyes cool as they looked down at him.

“And you assumed that meant you were dead to me?” Harry asked eyebrow raised. “Maybe you should take a swig too. Give us a kiss before you get any more strange ideas.”

“Using the royal ‘we?’” Tom murmured, cradling Harry’s face tenderly. “My king.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he accepted Tom’s affection, hefting his file by the handle afterward. “I’ve got a few hours until lunch. I want to make a decent headway through the foreign entity reports before I meet with Hermione.”

“Have fun reading my handwriting.”

Harry grinned. “It’s very pretty. I thought about framing it.”

Tom’s eyebrow rose. “You would not have said that a minute ago.”

“A minute ago I was afraid of —”

Tom’s hand covered his mouth quickly. “Maybe you should hold off on revealing your secrets until you are in the presence of Madam Granger.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not a truth serum.”

“No, but you are a very honest man missing a few insecurities that make him whole right now,” Tom reminded, fingertips curling around Harry’s jaw protectively. “Go, before my Junior Undersecretary brings me my morning coffee and sees you in my hands.”

Harry crooked a rueful smile, turning out of Tom’s grip towards the door. “Even with the potion my priority still seems to be to focus on you,” he said thoughtfully as he left.

“Harry…” Tom warned quietly just before the door closed between them.

Harry hummed on the way to the lifts.

One of the best things about seeking advice from Hermione was that her years of working for the Department of Creatures had introduced her to a variety of concepts that were not squarely ‘right’ or ‘wrong.’ It had been difficult for her at first, and she might have transferred out of the department into Law Enforcement had Madam Tutala not come along while she was dithering and soured the deal... but Harry thought the extra time confronted with moral ambiguity had resulted in a better, more well-rounded woman.

So, when they sat down at the end of Harry’s enormous kitchen table with sandwiches and charts and paperwork and newspapers scattered in stacks around them and Harry finally got up the nerve to ask for advice, he was only a _ wee _ bit terrified that she might blow up at him in a judgemental fit.

“Mione,” Harry said very seriously, thumbing the edge of Thomas Marvolo Riddle Junior’s thick file. His feelings for the man had gotten so tangled he wouldn’t even let himself read more than what was absolutely necessary for the case. “I have a problem.”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed absentmindedly. “You’ve got a huge one. A major information leak and only the barest circumstantial evidence linking these five foreign nationals to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. I think we need to start looking domestic.”

“No… I mean, yes, this is a clusterfuck, but Hermione, what I'm trying to say is I'm having an affair.”

“Harry!” Hermione gasped, looking up for the first time since being given the file folders, completely scandalized. "With a married man?!"

He gave her a look that matched her own. "Hermione, _ no_. He's single."

"Well, then, you're just a cheater. Not having an affair."

"Hermione," Harry pleaded. "Please let me get through this story, there's a lot of moving parts. There's this case involved too, which you and he are going to partnering with me on."

Hermione crossed her arms, giving him a look that he'd seen her use on Ron plenty of times in the past few years. It said _ 'spill.' _

Harry fidgeted. "I didn't mean for it to happen… the first time."

"_Harry_!"

He winced, rubbing the slight headache out of his forehead and wished that Tom's prediction that the Wit-Sharpening Potion would last through his meeting with Hermione had been correct.

"I need your help, 'Mione. Things have gotten really complicated… I don't want this to come between _ us _ too."

Hermione frowned, unhappy. "Of course it won't, Harry… it's just that I always thought you were a_ dedicated _ sort of man. You went through a great deal to convince us Draco was a changed man… that you were happy with him. I can't imagine you cheating if you actually _ were_."

"I _ thought _ I was," Harry said, voice soft and confused. "I really thought so. Or at least… comfortable. But then Tom found me at the Yule party Draco threw —"

"When you were already moping, I'm sure," Hermione interrupted, voice accusatory.

Harry stopped. "Okay," he said finally. "Forget it. Let's just work on the case, if you can't be my friend for _ ten fucking minutes _ —"

Hermione's mouth dropped. "Harry — what…?"

"You know, I've actually been going through some stuff that I thought I'd trust you with," Harry said, continuing his tirade. "Some really difficult things. I came to you, ready to put my heart out there, and I _ really _ needed you to see past your hard-edged, black-and-white sense of right and wrong like I _ know you can _ for just a few minutes in order to help me sort this mess —"

"Alright, Harry," Hermione soothed, relenting. "I'm sorry. You're right. I was just a bit taken aback. I have… insecurities of my own… regarding Ron."

"He would never," Harry sighed, feeling the fight leak out of him and then feeling disgruntled about it. He'd been ready to carry out his angry cold-shoulder for a while… but he couldn't when Hermione revealed that she was hurting too. "Ron adores you, and _ he _ knows you love him and Rosie too. Is this about him working at his brother's shop?"

"We're just so different," Hermione mused, following the wood grain of the table with a finger. "I'm sorry. This isn't about me. You met — Tom, was it? — at Draco's party."

"Yes…" Harry said, still feeling uncertain about revealing the depths of his heart sickness to her right after she'd castigated him. She simply waited patiently, and Harry something in her expression gave Harry the courage to continue. 

"I was struck by him at first sight," Harry confessed. "The very first moment he stepped into view. I was angry at Draco… I'd been angry at him for a long time actually. Insisting I go to these social gatherings all over the Isle and continent... and then running off and leaving me alone pretty much as soon as we've arrived… I was_ bitter_."

"Did you talk to him about how you were feeling?" Hermione asked, voice carefully inoffensive.

"Oh, all the time," Harry said, waving a hand to indicate occasion after occasion of talking about it, "but it was always 'you don't understand how important tonight was,' and 'you're an adult Harry, I shouldn't have to babysit you.' and then he kisses me and it doesn’t seem to matter anymore."

"Putting your needs down," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Then distracting you from them."

"_Yes_," Harry said, relieved beyond measure that finally someone understood. "So, I was standing there, feeling angry, knowing if I brought it up again that I had _ that _ to look forward to, and Tom shows up and he's — holy-shit-wow — and he _ sees _ it on me. He sees it on my face within a few seconds of meeting him, and then… Hermione, he was all over me. He knew just what to say and do for me to cave, and let him have his way, and even _ beg _ —"

"Oh my God," Hermione said, covering her eyes, cheeks flushed. "At the party? In _ plain _ view?"

"_Yes_," Harry grit out, feeling the shame heating his chest anew, along with an odd triumph he didn't didn't know how to place. "Apparently he used a Notice-Me-Not on us without me even noticing — but I barely even cared about it not being there — that's how out of sorts he made me."

"Harry… are you sure there wasn't a love potion involved?" she asked then, hands dropping under her chin to reveal genuine concern lining the corners of her mouth.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Harry said, chagrined. "It's all on me."

"So, what, then? You said there was more than once, right?"

Harry walked her through Tom being Draco's boss — "Tom_ Riddle_?! _ Harry_!" — and running into him when meeting Draco for lunch and the tiff they'd had — "Well, I don't know what he was expecting, in _public_…" — and then the party a few days previous on Friday, and no one knowing it was Harry and Draco's anniversary.

"Oh, Harry, some men just don't think of that kind of thing," Hermione comforted.

"Well," Harry said, twisting his hands together ruthlessly in his nerves, "there's something else. Something I've never told you and Ron before. Something from the beginning until now."

Hermione nodded, a little concerned frown appearing between her brows as she listened intently.

"Draco… doesn't like the… _ pre_-sex care routine that gay men need," Harry confessed, wincing and stumbling over his words awkwardly. "So he's found a potion that turns my — you know — into a — you know."

Hermione's frown deepened as she followed along with Harry's nervous hand gestures. "A potion that turns your anus into a vagina?"

Harry choked, a confusing combination of relief and profound embarrassment blocking his words for a few seconds. "Yes," he finally emitted.

"Oh, _ Harry_," Hermione whispered, voice full of sympathy. "That's… that sounds _really_ unhealthy."

"That's not the worst," Harry confessed, bolstered by her support. "The potion… it grows a new one, every time. So… each time we use it… it's like I'm a…"

"A virgin," Hermione guessed, horrified. "There's a hymen?"

"And it hurts appropriately," Harry said, laughing off his extreme discomfort. “Blood and all.”

"That needs to stop."

Harry flinched at the firm statement that bordered on being an outright command, thinking about the 'debt' he'd let Draco think he owed him in order to protect the case. 

"Yeah," he said instead of confessing. There was always next time. "Anyway, last Friday on our anniversary he was a little weird about it. Wanted all the lights turned off and was acting… well, he was acting as if it was real. The... _ vagina_… it's virginity… pretending it was our first time together… acting _ really _ weird. But it _ was _ him, I'm sure if it. He was just roleplaying that _ I _ wasn't me. I think."

"On your _ anniversary_?" Hermione asked, appalled.

"The whole thing was a real mind fuck," Harry confessed. "I kept thinking… ‘_I'm_ the guilty party here… I'm the cheater. I'm just interpreting this all wrong. It’s just an ill-timed_ fetish_.’ Though… I swear — I didn't know _ what _ was going to come out at me in the dark. I hated that I'd done that. _ I'd _ broken the trust between us."

"Harry, I don't know…" Hermione said, looking beyond disturbed. "Yes, you shouldn't have cheated, but this thing with Draco is really..."

"I know," Harry groaned, covering his face, "but I feel like I need to stick it out with him… I owe him. He was exactly what I needed at a rough time. I’ve put so much time and effort into us _ working_."

Hermione smoothed more fingers across the table. "You guys certainly were… explosive. In the beginning. But, Harry, just because he was right for you _ then _ doesn't mean he's right for you now. Your needs change."

"Then what is _ commitment_?" Harry demanded, hitting his knee. "What is loyalty? What keeps you from leaving Ron when _ you _ decide he's not what _ you _ need?"

Hermione cleared her throat slowly and pointedly. "What's between Ron and I is a partnership built on many years of compromise and corrected misunderstandings. If I ever had a problem like that, I would tell him at the very first _ hint _ of non-viability so that we could figure out what was causing it. Ron listens to me, Harry. He hears my concerns and he folds them into his own so that every decision he makes has my neuroses in mind. It is all that _ on top of _ the emotional and physical connection we share which told me he was the right man to marry. The right man to have a child with — unintentional as Rose was."

Harry avoided her chastising stare. "I'm not likely to have kids."

"Malfoy is though," Hermione reminded, tone gentling. "He has a huge legacy that we both know he feels obliged to hand down. All I'm saying is that you don't need to feel _ compelled _ to settle down with your first serious relationship."

Harry smoothed the thumb of one hand over the thumbnail of the other, then switched back and forth as he contemplated raising kids in Malfoy Manor. Primping and polishing them to Draco's standards… teaching them things like traditional comportment that Harry could barely wrap his head around himself and pretending he thought their social status meant anything at-fucking-all.

“I’m not ready to let go yet,” Harry said quietly. “He really _ was _ exactly what I needed for a long time. I’m not ready to just throw it all away.”

“I want you to know that I didn’t mean to imply you should,” Hermione said softly. “I _ do _ think that potion he has you take is not good for you. Regardless of whether the damage is healed, or fades away as the effects do… whatever. It cannot be good for you _ mentally _ to go through that pain _ every time. _ I'm talking instinctually — you're bound to be nursing avoidance behaviors every time you're together... not to mention your self-esteem and body image must be taking extreme hits left and right!” Her nose wrinkled, lost in her imaginings.

“Well… if that topic is closed now, maybe I can talk a bit about Tom?” Harry inquired hopefully.

“Yes, so, you saw him last Friday and that night Draco was acting very strangely. What happened next?”

Harry nodded along with her recounting. “This past weekend was beyond rough. I had nightmares — couldn’t stop imagining Draco getting revenge against me or Tom convincing me into more public acts, you know? All my fears, dialed up to eleven. On Monday, feeling super out of it, I put in a few requests for Tom’s file —"

"You _ didn't_."

"Er — yeah, I did. Robards called me into his office having already talked to him. Tom made the deal that I had to go to his office and talk to him directly to get out of a suspension or firing."

"Sneaky."

"Yeah. In any case — as soon as he saw me he became concerned over my appearance. He thought Draco had found out I had cheated and was… bullying me, or something. I guess it… made me feel safe. Er — that and the way he was holding me, too, I guess," Harry said, feeling his face heat at the admission. "But then… well, there's this_ thing _ he did that first time… comparing a kiss on the cheek to how the French greet each other — which, I assume he has _ plenty _ of experience with _ all _ the time with his _ job _ —"

"Harry."

"Er — right. So, he was concerned about me and was holding me and talking to me about how many Frenchmen he’d kissed in the past three weeks and I just grabbed him,” Harry said, covering his face so that he couldn’t see what Hermione’s expression was.

She sighed. “Harry, you know, unless it’s helpful to you, I don’t think I’m in need of every embarrassing detail. I feel like I _ do _ have to warn you, though, that you are careening towards an explosion of epic proportions here. Riddle is Draco’s _ boss_. Draco’s never been shy about expressing his lack of respect for the man. It seems like a decent opportunity for someone like Riddle to take revenge against years of impudent Slytherin head games.”

Harry let his hands slip back down to the table, poking at the lettuce shreds that had fallen out of his lunch. “He’s in love with me,” Harry said softly. “I read him — like the lads have me do to couples at the pub, you know — and I told him I saw that, thinking it would freak him out into backing off. He offered me a job as a member on his personal protection team instead. We’ve got a meeting about what the role entails on Thursday and I’m supposed to take it by Robards’ order and work on the case primarily. He… he’s been incredible, really; when it comes time for him to cooperate with me he _ does_. He listens, and waits, and is beyond respectful of pretty much everything that comes out of my mouth. It makes me want to —”

He made an odd grabbing motion with his hands out and Hermione cleared her throat. “I see,” she said, a strong note of suppressed humor revealing far more than those two short words had.

Harry smiled at her. She liked to pretend she didn’t want to hear the details, but Harry knew that a strong part of her was interested in his private life because of how strange and different it was to her own. Her thirst for perfect understanding didn’t stop at the bedroom door — which Harry knew from excruciating chats with _ Ron _ where he tried to simultaneously be supportive of his best friend and mentally plug his ears.

Not that Hermione was any better.

"I'm surprised that you're going for that type now," she said, eyes becoming shrewd. "I thought your tastes ran a bit more… domineering."

Harry fidgeted. He’d definitely never used _ that _ word with Hermione before. "Yeah, well, there's plenty of that in our more non-professional interactions…"

Hermione made an acknowledging noise in her throat before making quick work of pulling the papers in front of her into purposeful stacks that made absolutely no sense to him. While she worked she asked, "Harry, you know that relationships that begin with infidelity are not likely to continue for long past the breakup of the original couple."

"Yeah," he sighed, remembering the statistics well. They'd flashed through his head often since he'd woken up that morning with butterflies. _ Knowledge _ didn't stop him from wanting Tom, however.

"And so, then, you also know that a relationship started this way is not likely to be… without incidents of cheating also?"

"Hermione, this is not usual, for me," Harry said, voice quiet but no less raw. "I could barely see beyond my nose, that first time. Not drunk," he interrupted her as she frowned, opening her mouth to interject, "just _ overcome_. Everything about this is unusual to me."

"I wasn't necessarily saying it would be you who cheated," Hermione offered, uncomfortable. "He was comfortable enough to act so wild with a taken man at his boyfriend's own party. What does that say about his view of the sanctity of a relationship? He may be all about you _ now_," she said quickly, holding up her hand when Harry was the one to try to interrupt that time, "but that's how most relationships like these start, isn't it? Fire and promises and when you leave everything behind for them, they turn around and start a fire with someone else as soon as the infatuation hormones fade."

"I'm not leaving Draco," Harry muttered, rubbing his forehead again.

"Then you should end it with Riddle before this whole thing gets out of control," Hermione warned.

"I'm not ready for that either," Harry whispered, so ashamed of himself that he was barely audible at all. "I've never felt like this about_ anyone_. Not with Draco and definitely not my straight-confirming days at Hogwarts."

"Well, that _ is _ too be expected, with cheating," Hermione said, her voice going flat as she tried to rein in judgement and failed. "There's a reason why people do it. It feels good. It fills a void. But just like performing Dark magic… you destroy things — _ people _ — when you do it."

Harry grimaced, unsuccessfully rubbing the hot feeling of guilt and shame out of his chest. "Am I going to Hell, you think?"

Hermione's lips pursed and she looked away, to the battered, empty China cabinet. He knew the one that still guarded her parents' dining room held a porcelain crucifix, painted with roses. "You know I'm not the right person to ask about that," she said, voice tight.

Harry began to rub his thumbnails again. "Yeah. Sorry."

Hermione rushed off to her next meeting, leaving Harry with a completely reorganized filing system and five foreigners of interest to narrow his focus onto… as well as an interesting idea that he wanted to float past Tom.

"Come in," the man called after he’d knocked, still scribbling away at paperwork.

"Forgive the intrusion, Mr. Riddle,” Harry said with exaggerated stiffness as he stood in the doorway. Tom’s head popped up from his work and that same surprised delight he always seemed to have ready for Harry spread across his face before he compressed it back down to what _would_ be a fair approximation of annoyance — if his eyes hadn’t been sparkling so brightly.

“I do not like excessive hand-holding in order for my employees to make decisions, Auror Potter,” Tom said sternly. “I would hope you have a pressing concern to be disturbing me, yet again.”

Harry frowned more legitimately, then. There was keeping cover, and then there was maintaining the upper hand in a covert situation at the expense of your partner. It was a newbie mistake, to try to hoard all the respect in a room, thinking no one would question with the one manhandling the situation.

“I believe there is a mistake on my intake form, sir,” Harry said, voice flat and unamused. "I came by to discuss it."

"_Harry_!" Draco's voice hissed to the side just as Tom had opened his mouth to call him in.

Harry jerked his head to see Draco poking his head out of his own office a few doors down. "Don't leave without seeing me first," Draco ordered. His tone was far less warm than usual, and with the way his lip curled and his eyes darted to Tom's door, chin up and shoulders tensed and back… Harry knew it was all about status and control that had him acting that way. He didn't much like being the ping-pong ball between his two lovers, not that he felt he had the right to protest.

He pressed his lips together, nodded at Draco, and then stepped into Tom's office without waiting for any more posturing from either of them. One red-glowing door later and Harry turned with his hand out, just in time to catch Tom's advancing chest in his hand.

"I come with business again," Harry said firmly.

Tom looked down at Harry's hand, then back up, a small, condescending smile tugging at his lips. "Are you sure about that, darling? Because it seems your hand has other things in mind."

Harry glared at his hand, the thumb of which had betrayed him by feeling out the edge of Tom's yet-unseen pec and stroking the contour there curiously. "Damnit," Harry groused. He sighed and used that hand to pull Tom forward into a kiss.

"I tried," he said tiredly.

"So, I'm guessing the conversation with Madam Granger did not go my way?" Tom asked drily, ushering Harry to his usual seat with a gentle hand on his elbow.

"It's a stalemate," Harry admitted, twisted his hands together with nerves. "She had a lot to say, but nothing that would push me either way. She knows my life is my decision."

"And what did Madam Granger think of the investigation?" Tom asked, plopping down into his own seat and rolling himself up to his desk.

"She had the same opinion that I've had since this thing had begun," Harry said, voice turning serious.

"Which is?"

"That in any normal investigation Mr. Peasegood would have been the first suspect investigated. By now I should have a thick file — just with the amount of testimony I should have already taken from him! — and I am Stupefying my own foot not to have his input on this case."

"What is your plan?"

Harry was grateful for Tom's immediate vote of confidence. "We are going to publicly arrest him."

"And privately?" Tom pushed, lip curling with interest as he recognized that Harry was making him fish for answers.

"We set him up in a comfortable Auror safehouse and I question the living daylights out of him, while you and Hermione keep your eyes open for any incautious moves from our perp. Frequently, when someone feels safe and confident that their crime is going just the way they planned, they'll make a misstep. We need to catch him or her in a fit of arrogance. Hopefully, they don't know we're on their trail yet and the arrest of Peasegood will seem like an incautious action of our own."

Tom tapped his long fingers thoughtfully on the edge of his desk before turning a shrewd eye on him. "Who are you sending to perform the arrest?"

Harry grinned. Tom had figured out that the highly-decorated Auror Potter wouldn’t be marching down there himself.

It was nice to be understood.

There was a warm glow in his stomach when he finally left Tom’s office, lips still warm and soft from the kisses the man stole from him before letting him leave. He was so content with himself and the world in that moment that he was completely blindsided by Draco popping out of his office, directly in front of him, before he could pass.

“Forgetting someone?” Draco asked, smile brittle.

“No,” Harry lied, frowning. “Just very distracted. What’s up?”

Draco leaned in, grabbing his arm before tugging him into his office and shutting the door. “So how’s it going?” he asked conspiratorially. “The probation.”

Harry frowned, confused, before realizing Draco’s slip. “Not _ probation_,” Harry said, a bit amused. “‘Probation’ holds a different connotation with an Auror. It's a _trial_. But anyway — we’re discussing things like hours and schedules. I’ve got paperwork, here... boring stuff, to be honest.”

Draco gave him an arch look. “Boring for you,” he said, judgement strong in his tone.

Harry frowned, not liking that. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Draco sighed. Then he looked around (checking to make _sure_ the door was closed, Harry noted with some irritation) before tugging Harry in for a kiss. The acrid flavor of Draco’s kiss after he’d just swigged tea was something he’d never get used to. Harry's palm smacked onto Draco's shoulder, pushing. (_'He rejected my kiss outside this office yesterday — I hate this taste — I was literally _just_ kissing someone else.'_) Always a fighter, Draco’s tongue plunged into his mouth unceremoniously and more bitterness followed, tasting just as strong as the sips Harry had taken directly out of Draco’s teacup on occasion.

Draco's kiss affected him. It always had. Harry felt the familiar kick behind his heart, and his fingers curled around Draco's shoulder and began to pull him in, instead.

“It’s been a few days since I kissed you, huh?” Draco said after Harry had fully melted against him. “You seemed like you needed that.”

Dazed, Harry pulled back and nodded, frowning as being around Draco — slipping back into the comfort of the familiar and known — made everything he’d said and done that day feel so much more terrible than before… morally repugnant. What _ had _ he done? He'd spoken so discourteously of their private life to people who had no reason to believe anything but the worst of Draco. It was utterly reprehensible.

“I guess so,” he mumbled, disturbed.

“Alright, then. You’re set; go on and go," Draco prompted, opening the door for him to leave. In the threshold Harry leaned in for another kiss, wanting to climb right back into what he knew to be stable and _safe_, and Draco stopped him just as he had the day before. “_Harry_,” he ground out reproachfully.

Feeling, once again, like he’d been slapped, Harry backed off and then away, hearing Draco’s door close itself behind him without any further salutations.

His personal life was getting more confusing, that was abundantly clear. Something else that was certain to him at that moment was how _awfully_ he’d treated Draco with his words that day. Resolving to be better… to treat Draco with respect and loyalty even when the other man wasn’t physically present, he pushed the button to call the elevator. To keep Draco safe, he needed to advance this case, quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been pretty sad recently; my hubby and I have agreed to start moving towards separation and divorce. This chap and the last one were really difficult to fine-tune and post due to my feelings, but I hope that didn't effect the quality of my mistake finding. 🧐 A lot of the emotions in the interactions between Harry and Draco are inspired by the dysfunction between my hubby and I, and the years of just wanting to pretend everything might one day be fine. I was pretending right up until the -moment- I realized a lot of my anxiety is actually due to the stress of pretending... and that's when I knew no matter how hard I tried, I'm just never going to be a good wife to this man. (Or, perhaps, any man ever.) One day I was telling someone how we worked hard to make our mixed-orientation marriage work, the next, boom.
> 
> So uh... how's it going with you guys 😏


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, y'all, last chapter's comment section was lit. Darkly lit... minging and mouldy like the Malfoy dungeons, but still. Lit. I want to thank everyone who put themselves out there to defend me. I'm sensitive in general but especially right now I'm feeling down & out and like a failure in my personal life and I appreciate that when I was freaking out about my fic being torn apart you guys were there to hold me up and keep me from spiraling. I owe my Tomarry Discord fam... you have no clue how much.
> 
> I debated putting this up here, or at the end. I thought I'd rather speak to you guys before you dive in to the chapter, so once you start reading we can just move on together. I guess I figured there would be some people upset by the infidelity but I definitely didn't expect it to be delivered the way it was, or for every aspect of the fic to get called into question and myself belittled for responding with compassion to someone obviously struggling with self control. I do want to say it *was* my intention to frustrate people with Harry's waffling so... I win? I guess? I just really thought everyone would be /reasonable/ and complain to a wall or something and then come back, eagerly hoping for resolution to occur in the next posted chapter (or the next, or the next, etc.) Despite the poor reception from a minority bunch (thanks again, those who helped encourage me, you're so wonderful) I am going to continue formatting and posting the chapters exactly as I've written them. (I'm not removing things that are similar to mean things they said because damn it I wrote it FIRST!) When finishing this fic I wrote everything purposefully and then went back to the beginning, making sure everything agreed with the original fic, the extra snippet, and the first chapters all the way to the end I wrote before I posted the first chapter. 
> 
> It's... *Harry Potter,* you know? Dramatic and not necessarily realistic. I mean... I think at least one person forgot that in the original fic Harry let himself be dicked down on a balcony while *literally staring at and meeting the eyes of his boyfriend.* This is the level of infatuation and obsession we're *starting* with. Where we've gotten to from here should not be surprising! 😅😅😅
> 
> But less defensively and more supportively... this is why reading tags is so very important, guys. That rush of anxiety... of fear and anger pulsing into being inside of you until you have to strike out at others in order to make yourself feel better... that's a trigger. That is your sense of safety being compromised by something that has no real ability to harm you. 
> 
> I really didn't want to move the comments to approval only, but I also want to reserve the right to protect myself from people who didn't even read the fic from trolling me. (Because if they continually latch on to something NOT in my fic and use that to explain why they deserve to be cruel it can only be trolling. They didn't even read carefully enough to know they were repeatedly saying something wrong 😅😅) If you want to criticize you can, but you can fully expect me not to lift my hips up and let you fuck me with it, Goddamn. I have a right to counter when people are shoving negative opinions at me. I don't *have* to be a doormat for you to wipe your boots on. (End rant, sorry for getting defensive again)
> 
> I want to let you guys know that words hurt. Especially me... especially right now. But maybe also especially the next commenter you respond to... the next waitress your served by... the next person walking slowly in the crosswalk... the next retail associate or cashier who assists you. 
> 
> Be kind guys ❤️

# Chapter Nine

* * *

* * *

Upon the disappearance of Auror Brall into Robard's office, Harry shifted his chair a few centimeters to the left, waving his wand to shorten the wall of his cubicle enough to provide line-of-sight to the door. He had plenty of newspapers to get through while he waited for Robards to follow his instructions (and wasn't that a thrill to think on?) and so he got to work, looking for pieces of information or quotes that should have been confidential.

At the fast opening of the office door, Harry's gaze shot back up in time to catch Brall leaving Robard's office, crystal tiger in hand and wand drawn, prowling towards the exit that led towards the rest of the Department and the lifts.

He grinned, covering his teeth with one hand while the other restored his cube wall. Yes, that went exactly as planned. Brall was so rash… Harry didn't even think he'd been in Robards' office long enough for the Auror to take Robards' statement properly.

In the eyes of the Ministry, Keith Brall was respectfully experienced, not as green as Harry, but he was very much a meathead Auror. Physically imposing and covered with scars, he was perhaps the best dueller in the Office but famous for rushing in and taking only the obvious solution, ignoring hints and clues in his determination to arrest the closest suspect. Normally these tendencies were tempered by the very organized Auror Jyoti Aakaya, but she was out of commission for a while on maternity leave, and Brall was being taken off desk duty and mission work to handle Peasegood.

Auror Brall, just by acting true to form and excited by the thought of working a case on his own, would provide the perfect foil for Harry's true investigation... and hopefully would lull their culprit into a false sense of security.

Setting the newspapers aside, he began to brainstorm out the perfect trap for an overconfident Listener.

"So that's what I've got," Harry finished, standing with Tom and Hermione on either side of him and a timeline laid out in pictures, duplicated messages, and the magical version of post-it notes along the length of her dining room table. "Now that you know my intentions for catching this guy, let's get the debrief out of the way and any new considerations placed down here, before we begin with any conjecture about who we might catch in our web."

Tom began first, walking them through the large stack of tabbed, spell-highlighted, and annotated parchment. He was slightly more curt and precise in front of Hermione than when he and Harry discussed the case alone in his office, but every once in a while during the long presentation he would lay two fingers on Harry's wrist while explaining something especially important, or guide him by the elbow to a specific point in the timeline while never once touching Hermione the same way. Having been kept at an elbow's distance for a year by Draco's strict concept of professional etiquette, Harry felt a fluttering warmth in his belly at the care implied by each brief tap against his sleeve.

During Hermione’s own speech Tom walked around the table, resting his long fingers on the table at the dates she referenced, nodded at her in confirmation of some shared fact, or stared hard at Harry as if trying to glean his take on what his best friend shared. The daze he'd been in since Draco had kissed sense back into him peeled back slightly, and Harry wondered how it was possible to be so sure of one thing one moment, and confused and lost the next.

“I am concerned at how little evidence we have, out of so much intel,” Tom said softly after Hermione drew her report to a conclusion. Both of them had come armed with heavily organized collections of employee and foreign national’s movements and neither thick stack had drawn a firm conclusion, just gave more circumstantial evidence that could mean nothing or _ everything_. “Auror Potter, please tell me your day with Peasegood was slightly more productive.”

Harry took a deep breath before responding.

“It wasn’t,” he admitted, laying his own stack of notes on top of the timeline with a plop. “Arthur Peasegood is just as unpleasant as his reputation suggests, but he did cooperate to the fullest of his ability once I’d moved him to the safehouse and explained the urgency of the case. He appears to have been Obliviated at one point, but working together to examine his memories we discovered it was just an incredibly short window… not even five minutes while on a solo errand in Diagon. We narrowed down the date and time within a two-hour window that it must have occurred, but in the broken edges of the memory he is completely alone, before and after, with no witnesses.”

“Discouraging,” Hermione murmured. “So was he Suggested during that missing timeframe to deliver the gifts?”

“No,” Harry said grimly. “According to his memory he did not deliver them... and we have detected no more missing time. He said an enterprising undersecretary took it upon herself to buy and deliver the gifts in his name, and since he didn’t receive but a few 'thanks' for the ‘obviously useless gift’ — in his words — there wasn’t much opportunity for people to dissuade him of the notion.”

“According to Robards’, the Minister’s, and Madam Granger’s interviews, the statuette was given by Peasegood himself, in person,” Tom thought out loud. "He delivered mine in person as well."

Both Harry and Hermione nodded in agreement, but Harry was the one to speak back. “It is a well thought-out plan, whatever the end game is. There is no doubt that it is an intelligent person we are after. The strike on Peasegood was quick and without any outward sign of anything having happened at all, outside of the blip in his memory. If any other Auror had investigated him we wouldn’t have even known it occurred, since I'm the only one who's studied Legilimency. We can only _ assume _ that was when the culprit stole biological matter to customize a day’s worth of Polyjuice — but without knowing the scale of their ambitions…”

“They have detailed information now on every level of our government,” Hermione added next. “Over three weeks worth, until you laid down the Confundus Charms. Who knows if that one person was the only one he — or she — visited? We have no _ motive _ even… just magical wiretapping. How are we supposed to catch them?”

“We set the trap,” Harry reminded her before she could become too invested in her frustration. “Friday morning. We’ve planned this out.”

“There’s just so much that could land in enemy hands until then,” Hermione worried.

“You get used to the wait,” Harry said gently. “It’s necessary. We cannot be rash and put ourselves or the case at risk.”

“Friday,” Tom said, agreeing with one tired word.

“I convened with the Minister today, before he left for the day,” Harry informed them. “He will keep mum about it until Friday morning when the artifact sweep is announced on his order. Right now, whoever they are, they’re riding high, with only one listening device found and the case looked after by an Auror infamous for charging blindly ahead. If they want to keep feeling invincible they’re going to want to clean up their spellwork and lay low for the furor to die down. We _ need _ to catch them removing the Listening Charms.”

“Until then, we can keep a closer eye on our Frenchmen,” Tom said, obviously discontent, “and every other power hungry person who has access to the Ministry.”

“A.K.A., everyone,” Hermione sighed.

“Don’t get discouraged,” Harry urged. “We’re three days in. This is what casework is, oftentimes. Nothing, nothing, nothing, until you get one glimpse, one detail that breaks everything wide open.”

“Just another Wednesday for you, then?” Tom asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

Harry rested his knuckles on the edge of Hermione’s table, staring down at the carefully spaced papers and photos as if they could tell him something new the thirtieth time they’d been viewed. “They’re smart. Careful. _ Audacious_. But above all else, they don’t want to get caught. We see that with Peasegood as a red herring.” He looked up at Hermione, then Tom, lingering there when he caught sight of the frank admiration in his gaze. “Those last two, audacious and self-preserving, are why the ploy Friday will work.”

Tom’s curling smile slowly grew more intense the longer Harry drank it in.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Tom asked on Hermione and Ron’s front stoop. “Or let me come home with you?”

“No,” Harry said, closing his eyes and breathing in the brisk winter air with a smile.

“It makes you happy to reject me.”

Harry blinked his eyes open, turning to deny it, but as soon as his eyes met Tom’s cold ones, the man Disapparated out of his reach.

Harry felt the icy rush of air filling the space Tom had abruptly left brush over him like a hundred slaps across his skin. His stomach churned unpleasantly and he cast a glance back at the lit windows of the house, half expecting to see Hermione's accusing stare looking back at him from one of them. There was none, of course; it was just Harry's own conscience speaking.

He sighed, and Apparated to Grimmauld Place. He would deal with Tom first thing tomorrow morning.

Harry had only been laying in bed for a scant ten minutes before restlessness and worry drove him to his writing desk. Harry knew (was fairly certain, at least) that the intense range of emotions he felt with Tom were merely a byproduct of the rush of adultery. Of _ course _ he did, he thought angrily towards the surge of doubt that followed. _But_, he relented as he fingered the edge of a clean sheet of parchment, that knowledge wouldn't help him sleep at night if he felt like something was wrong between them.

"Tom,

"It doesn't make me happy to reject you. That's not why I was smiling.

"Please don't be mad.

"Darling"

Harry nearly cracked a tooth, grinding his teeth as he wrote that ridiculously overfamiliar pet name instead of his own. However, even though he felt like he was surrendering significant ground to Tom to claim it, getting caught by someone intercepting his correspondence (again) would be much worse. He rubbed his jaw after sending Cecily off with the letter, wondering if he'd made a mistake, but also not-hoping with every shallow breath that he wouldn't have to lay awake in bed all night not knowing if Tom was still mad, not knowing why it felt so important that he not be.

So, to assist relaxation during the wait, he made tea in the small silver cauldron he'd gotten from Molly and Arthur as a housewarming gift after graduation, adding chamomile and lavender buds along with a generous portion of honeysuckle nectar until it all dissolved into a warm, yellow liquid that was more potion than drink. It was the only potion he made, anymore, since his nearly fatal — and very expensive — attempt at brewing Felix Felicis during his first year of training.

He almost smiled to think of how naive and hopeful he'd been back then. He'd grown to know that case reports didn't get solved instantly with magic… but the lesson had been long and painful and filled with reprimands from his senior partner.

His eyes landed on the accordion folder tucked away beneath his writing desk, and consciously drilled patience into his blood at the thought of all unknown and undone. The tea helped, magically unwinding his knotted shoulders and making him feel the slightest bit muzzy — but not fully out of sorts, just the way Harry preferred to be artificially relaxed.

Of course, the tea wasn't strong enough to beat back the surge of blind panic that shot through his veins at the sight of Cecily returning through the window. Harry unrolled the tiny scrap of parchment with hands that were very stable and didn't betray how fucking nervous he was, thank Merlin. He almost couldn't look. It was a rough way to discover he_ really _ wasn't ready for Tom to be done with him yet.

_ “Darling," _ Tom wrote, his lovely handwriting slanting on the word — mocking Harry.

“I look forward to hearing your explanation in the morning, before the coffee is made.

“Tom

“P.S. Your owl seemed quite taken with my Wally's charms. I told her she could visit him any time — she reminds me so much of her owner… _ without _ the irritating habit of holding herself back from what she wants. If she wants to come, don't hold her back due to your own repressive missishness, alright, Darling?”

"_Arrogant_," Harry seethed, beyond agitated that Tom would involve his precious, _ sweet _ owl in his schemes and through his words seek to _ defile _ her pure baby owlness, and —

Cecily was warbling excitedly, _urgently_, at him, while flicking her wingtip out towards the window she'd just came through. His jaw dropped a fraction as her intentions became clear.

"You want to go see him? This… _ Wally_?" he asked, voice cracking. Her hooting increased in pitch and speed, and his first instinct was to hammer the window shut.

_ 'Don't hold her back,' _ Tom's letter had said.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, feeling cornered and a little frightened of this thing between Tom and him for the first time, he nodded at Cecily. "Of course, girl," he said weakly. "Have a good time and be safe."

“Don’t let his owner cast any spells at you!” he shouted, panicked, out the window after she darted out. After a moment or two of watching her brown form soaring over the crowded roofs and puffing chimneys of residential London, he let himself slump over onto his folded arms, feeling the chill wind send goosebumps over his body as he let himself collapse on the sill for a few seconds.

He wasn’t ready for this.

He wasn’t ready to be laid siege to like this. Not ready for — Harry pushed away from the window more violently than necessary, heading back to bed.

He wasn’t ready for Tom to be a more complete person than the coercive fuckboy he’d imagined him to be. Wasn’t ready for him to be competent, intelligent, well-respected… not ready for him to push Harry’s buttons, demand something _ emotional _ out of the mistakes Harry kept making with him. (Wasn’t ready to have already given him that something emotional, either.) Wasn’t ready for him so work so seamlessly with both _ Auror Potter _ and _ Madam Granger _ and _ definitely _ wasn’t ready for Cecily to be going on _ dates _ with his _ owl_.

Wasn’t ready for that slightly pained, assessing glance he’d caught Hermione giving the two of them that night as Tom had touched his arm and sought his undivided attention during his recitation. He had to believe he had control. He had a choice in this, right? He could walk away at any moment. He _ could choose Draco_. He could. He wasn’t a horrible person. He could be committed to his lover-of-a-year. Tom was just new. That’s all. That’s _ all. _

Harry tipped back Dreamless Sleep. He’d needed to go back to the clinic and get more, and actually hadn’t planned on using it that night... but as his awareness faded with every gulp he’d known it was worth the warning from the clinic matron.

So tired… tired of struggling. Tired of hurting, of trying, of bleeding. Tired of Draco. Tired of fighting. Tired of wanting…

Tom's voice _ saying 'more than anyone else,' _ was the last thing that went through his head before the bottle slipped from his grasp and crashed to the floor.

Harry lingered through memos, notices (and the odd crime report that got _conveniently_ _misfiled_ into his inbox by coworkers who knew he would be mostly out-of-office for the foreseeable future and thought they could get away with it) before heading to Tom’s office. He was dragging his feet, he knew. Still, instead of putting the mislaid paperwork on the appropriate desk with no explanation he scrawled out a note for each one, hoping to delay the meeting with Tom for as long as possible.

The charmed window indicated it was still dark outside by the time he finished all the small side jobs he could think of, showing that he hadn’t bought himself that much time at all. He’d thought to chat with Robards superficially about the case, but the man hadn’t made it into the office yet — not that Harry blamed him. It was insane to be there before daybreak.

Harry _ did _ feel a little mad as the lift took him down to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. If he wasn’t so used to the ambivalence in his emotions regarding Tom _ (‘stay, run, stay, run’) _ he might feel even more worried about his stability. Instead, he sighed through them, keeping his echoing footsteps steady up the stairs and down the hall.

Tom’s office door was open when the elevator spit him out, which seemed like a bad omen to Harry. Tom’s door was open to all… not closed, and then admitting only him. Inside the room, Tom had his head in one hand, pouring over a newspaper — ‘_La Baguette Magique_,’ Harry thought it might be — with an intent, displeased expression.

“Good morning,” Harry called awkwardly, knocking on the doorframe with one knuckle.

“Good morning, Auror Potter. Please close the door behind you and I’ll be with you in a second.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, feeling trepidation rise as he followed the instructions. Inane babbling rose in his mind, _ (‘I’m sorry — don’t be angry with me please — don’t hate me now,’) _ and he bit the inside of his lip viciously to keep the weak pleading from escaping.

Soon enough, Tom lifted from his avid reading with a disgruntled release of air. “Nothing. I see nothing,” he muttered, tossing the paper to the side. Then he looked up at Harry, that unhappy expression staying in place as he looked his guest over.

“Sorry,” Harry let out, before pressing his lips firmly together.

“I thought I had you figured out yesterday morning,” Tom said then, ignoring the apology. “I didn’t lie, I know how to be patient. I get the feeling you don’t realize just _ how _ patient I’ve had to be in this role.”

“Your file says you’ve been Department Head for eight years.”

Tom nodded minutely, wary. “And before that?”

“You’ve been working for the Ministry for a long time,” Harry conceded grudgingly. He hadn't wanted to talk about Tom’s true age. He _ looked _ thirty-five. That was all Harry wanted to think about.

Tom’s lips twitched. “True enough. Over fifty years, with no plans on ever stopping,” he said, raising an eyebrow and apparently letting Harry come to whatever conclusion he wanted to about that. “I’ve been chasing the same plan since I was eleven. It’s slow, but I’ve seen the fruits come quite steadily from it, and taking my time has freed up valuable time for personal studies.”

His hand turned and flicked gracefully at the shelf which was protected by his own spellwork. “Yet, once I felt I had gained something of you — the smallest amount of surrender — I also found that I have lost all control over myself in regards to having _ all _ of you.”

Tom’s hands moved to splay his fingertips across the desk surface between them. “I cannot read people the way you can,” he said seriously. “It might interest you to know that I also studied Legilimency, but I was taught early on by my father not to use it on anyone I cared to keep… so I refuse to use it on you — though it would undoubtedly tell me once and for all what your intentions towards me are.”

Harry frowned, opening his mouth to protest the role he was being cast as (he wasn’t the aggressor, here!) but Tom held up a hand before he could. “Forgive me for running on,” he said, appearing to mean it sincerely, “I am only seeking to apologize for acting so dramatically last night.”

Harry sat back, perplexed. “I thought I was supposed to apologize to _ you_.”

Tom crooked his first smile of the morning, and it was the most uncertain of an expression Harry had ever seen him make. “I would not turn down hearing why your face was so filled with glee while rejecting me last night, but I know you are not a cruel man. I was just — out of control.”

Harry’s lips pulled sideways as his eyebrows went up in response. “As far as ‘out of control’ goes, Apparating out of a hurtful situation seems fairly benign,” he commented. “I was just — the smell of winter, in the air. It always makes me happy. It reminds me of holidays at Hogwarts, and some of the happiest times of my life.”

“So, there you were, reliving your happiest moments while standing next to me and I acted like a scorned teenaged girl,” Tom grumbled. He held a finger up towards Harry, before he could attempt to protest that characterization. “Completely out of control,” he repeated firmly.

“Well,” Harry said uncomfortably, “You didn’t mock me for being out of control during sex, so I certainly won’t hold your — er, frustration — against you.”

“I feel like you are laughing at me, inside.”

“Maybe a little bit,” Harry agreed amiably, “but only because I think you are holding yourself to much too high a standard.”

“Never,” Tom denied, sitting back in his seat and smiling wider, then. “So, was your lunch with Madam Granger so frightening that you are going to refuse my greeting again today?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but stood anyway. “We’re not doing it on the chair again. My thighs still ache from the workout.”

“No need,” Tom countered, face brightening further. “I believe there was mention of bending you over my desk…?”

Harry’s steps stuttered, but he finished rounding the desk, walking right up to Tom’s sprawled seat without showing giving any other indication of how much those words affected him. “Not sure,” Harry said with false thoughtfulness, “it _ is _ rather early in the morning, and we _ are _ good and proper English lads and all…”

Tom’s hands slid up Harry’s thighs, thumbs pressing in to stroke the fabric covering Harry’s inseam. “But we won’t have the chance tonight, during our _ very official _ meeting,” Tom said ever-so reasonably.

“An open-door sort of meeting, is it?” Harry inquired casually. Tom unbuckled his belt and set to undo his flies while he did his level best to act like he didn’t notice it happening.

“Oh, yes,” Tom agreed. “It’s on the books with my undersecretary and everything. Simply unavoidable.”

His hands encouraged Harry’s trousers and underwear to slide down his legs and then his fingers made their way back up, trailing over sparse hair and smooth skin until they curved around the globes of his arse to dip into his cleft. “Still,” Harry persisted, brain scrambling for words while his universe narrowed to the focused massage those hands gave, “er — morning…”

“Maybe I should just make it worth your while,” Tom offered, cool as a cucumber in his desk chair even as one finger began teasing Harry’s opening. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of tasting you here.”

Harry clenched automatically, and Tom’s fingertip was squeezed out in the process. “What?” he gasped, blushing furiously. “You can’t seriously want to…”

Tom rested his chin on Harry’s belly, looking up at him with that ever-present skeptical eyebrow. “Surely you’ve had it done for you before?”

Harry’s mouth worked, trying to decide what was appropriate to share at the moment: how he’d only had short, hot flings that had burned out quickly before Draco had come along, how Draco was diametrically opposed to getting even his _ hands, _ let alone his mouth, anywhere near Harry’s natural asshole, and how Tom was the only one who'd even _touched_ him there in over a year, and settle on a simple, “No.”

Tom snorted.

“He doesn’t suck cock, finger you, or eat ass — Harry, are you _ sure _ your boyfriend is gay?”

Harry glared and took a step away, hating how hurtfully close to home that comment felt and fighting a rising surge to defend Draco's honor when Tom grasped the open front of his robes and stopped his retreat.

“I apologize,” he said, voice rough. “That was out of line. You see? I am completely out of control. Please… let me make it up to you.”

Harry nearly rolled his eyes as that silky tone re-entered his voice not even a _ second _ after he’d finished apologizing. "I'm listening."

"Let me give you what you want," Tom breathed, pulling Harry close again.

"And what is it that _ you _ think I want?" Harry drawled shrewdly, but he wrapped his arms around Tom's head down by his stomach anyway. His heart flipped at the rush of nurturing affection that swelled at the pose.

"Let me show you."

Harry was used to the prequel to sex being the most _ un_sexy experience he could think of. He wasn't used to seeing bold, unhidden interest in his lover's eyes before he'd even been penetrated. Perhaps that's one of the things that had weakened his resolve so completely that first time. Tom had shown exactly how wanted — _ needed _ — Harry was from those first, searching cheek kisses.

"It's early enough — it's probably safe to get naked," Harry offered, tugging meaningfully at Tom’s robes, which were solid fabric all across his chest again. Tom bore him backwards, turning him to press Harry’s arse against the edge of the desk as he shook his head in the negative.

“No,” he refused, lifting and pulling Harry’s arse cheeks apart before shoving his trousers down farther so Harry could step out of them. “No nakedness — no beds — until you are mine, _ fully_.”

“But — what?” Harry cried, more dismayed than he had any moral right to be. “Never?”

Tom lifted Harry and plopped his bare bottom directly on his desk in a smooth motion that had Harry’s already interested cock hardening further. He’d always been interested in men who were strong enough to do what they wanted with him, and Tom had shown he was capable enough in many different respects — physically, mentally, perhaps even magically…?

“You wanna duel sometime?” Harry asked as Tom pressed his shoulder so that he’d lay down, bum hanging slightly off the edge.

“Is my reluctance to be naked with you so offensive?” Tom asked, parting Harry’s robes and running a flat hand down his stomach and trailing it lightly over his full length and balls, then down to flirt with his exposed hole.

“N-no,” Harry stuttered, squirming as he felt the cooling sensation (it always reminded Harry of peppermint, for some reason) of an Intimate Cleansing Charm spread around and into his ass. “I mean — god, _ yes, _ but I was thinking about how easily you lifted me.”

“Hmm.” Tom’s dry finger dipped in just past the tight opening and stayed without making an attempt to penetrate further. “Spread your hands, darling.”

Harry frowned, confused, then remembering the teasing the day before held is arms wide apart, wrists landing on the newspapers and half-filled parchment on either side. “I thought I was supposed to be bending over.”

“There’s still time,” Tom replied complacently. Harry heard his chair roll forward, towards Harry’s arse, and then the squeaking sounds of Tom settling back down and getting comfortable. “Put your feet up on either side of your hips, Harry.”

He shuddered at the sound of his name being savored by Tom’s alluring voice, and struggled to do so, not fully accomplishing his task until Tom helped push his ankles into place and guided his hips to tilt up, exposing himself.

“That’s quite a stretch, isn’t it?” Tom mused. “Can you hold it there, darling? Hold yourself open for me while I fuck you open with my tongue?”

“Oh, god,” Harry whimpered. “I’ll certainly do my best.”

Unseen fingers tickled their way across Harry’s sensitive arse skin, then inwards to press a circling massage over the furled skin in the center. “Shall I lick you right here, my darling?”

Harry gripped his ankles harder, resisting the urge to push back onto those teasing fingers. “I don’t know, shall you?”

“Such a mouth,” Tom murmured, letting his warm breath ghost over Harry’s anus. “Maybe I’ll have to restrict what you can say… how does 'yes' or 'no' sound, darling?”

“Really?” Harry asked, bewildered. He’d definitely never played a game like that before.

“You just kissed my finger, down here,” Tom informed him, wiggling the affected fingertip, which Harry felt himself pulse against again without meaning to. “I think you like the idea.”

“Maybe I just like your finger,” Harry grumbled good-naturedly, holding back the urge to laugh at the strange conversation.

“It’s too bad you hid in your cubicle for so long this morning,” Tom said, making Harry freeze with a very light panic. “I would have liked to have fucked you full of my cum at least twice so that you could feel me wetting your clothing for the rest of the day.”

“Oh, shit,” Harry moaned, both at the words and at the stiffened tongue which speared him at their conclusion.

“Mm, you taste fantastic. Rosemary scented soap, too?”

“Ungh, yes,” Harry moaned, spread arms jerking as the tongue laved over the outside of him before flicking at the rim. It was _ odd_, a feeling that Harry’d never experienced before but was undoubtedly _very _sexual and the longer Tom went at it the better it felt. It was a very different to having his dick licked or sucked… for example, Harry could feel _ this _ warm pleasure in his entire _ body _ instead of just the location of Tom’s nipping and tonguing.

After a few more moments he began to feel completely out of it, like he was hardly aware of anything anymore — only the feelings flooding his body — and only dimly cognizant that he was making all sorts of noises that for some reason were not embarrassing at all, though he knew they definitely _ should _ be. His hands were nowhere near the position that Tom insisted they stay, but every time he put them back he kept finding them over his face again, covered in drool and tearing at his hair.

“Feels good?” Tom asked at one point, voice heavy with satisfaction.

Harry’s reply was entirely wordless, though he had sincerely tried to say _ ‘oh, god, fuck, yes!’ _

“Please, please, please, Tom,” Harry finally found it within himself to verbalize.

“Yes, love?”

Harry keened as Tom’s (miraculous, inventive, amazing, magical) mouth returned to its job, having only left long enough to break Harry’s mind wide open with that pet name.

“Please,” he slurred, grunting as Tom gently scraped his tenderized skin with his front teeth. “Please fuck — oh my fucking god — me. I can’t — oh, _ shit-hell-fuck _ — I _ can’t come, _ah! — like this.”

“Are you sure?” Tom asked, a slight hoarseness to his voice the only sign he’d been making oral love to Harry’s asshole for — god, Harry truly didn’t know how long he’d been laying there, slowly dying.

“_Please_,” Harry whispered. Tom was the only one who’d ever been able to make him beg. He hadn’t thought he’d ever lose himself enough, let go enough in the act, to even consider it. But then again, half — or more — of his current arousal came from the fact that it was Tom himself, with every impressive quality that belonged to _ this _ man alone, who was the one making Harry feel so good.

Tom rose over him, laying himself down on Harry who lifted shaky hands around his back and neck and welcomed his swollen-mouthed kisses with an almost spiritual feeling of gratitude. Tom’s cheek and jaw smelled like dried spit and something fleshier and darker that was probably all Harry, and he breathed deep through his nose to memorize the way they smelled together and then wrapped his legs around Tom’s waist with an unexpected cry of pain.

“Ow, my hips,” he gasped, dropping his head back down to the table with a _ thud_.

“Should have thought of that,” Tom commented, reaching his hands down and massaging the skin closest to the affected joints.

“S’okay, please fuck me now,” Harry whined, pulling Tom closer with his heels and arching his lower back to push against Tom’s pelvis, feeling the hard length under his robes scrape against his hole with an excited grin.

“Yess, I want to,” Tom hissed. “I’m so fucking hard.”

Tom jostled Harry as he reached way down to quickly spell lubricant into being and slip two fingers into Harry at once, who writhed and pushed back on the intrusion greedily, his flesh sensitive from the long while of gentle stimulation.

“Oh my _ god_, it feels so much _ more_,” Harry gasped. “I want to feel you, please let me feel you, Tom.”

A slow smirk spread across his lover’s face. “But _that_ would be so much more than a taste… don’t you think?” he inquired, to all appearances concerned over the dilemma.

“Oh, no, Tom, please, _please_, don’t do that right now. Just fuck me please.”

“Really, even using these fingers is going too far… we shouldn’t… we can’t, right?”

Tears gathered at the edges of Harry’s eyes as Tom’s fingers slowed, their movements becoming gentler, more searching. “Please,” he begged simply.

“Perhaps… just a little bit would be okay?”

“Oh, fuck, yes, anything,” Harry pleaded, trying to wriggle himself back and forth on Tom’s hand, relieved when the man let him do it, though laying on his back as he was it was largely ineffectual.

Then the fingers were gone, and Harry’s tears of arousal might have devolved into actual weeping had there not been the thick press of Tom’s cock at his entrance in short order.

“Yes!” Harry shouted out, voice conveying his demand for more.

Tom’s dark red eyes burned down at him as he braced his hands on either side of Harry’s middle and pressed in slowly, eased by a thick coating of lubricant.

“Oh,” Harry said, mouth falling open and his lashes fluttering, briefly hiding Tom’s rigid form from sight as the length sank in shallowly, way eased by what felt like it would have been an entire jar’s worth of lube and just teasing the front edge of his prostate.

Then Tom pulled back out.

“No!” Harry protested, upper body crunching upwards to reach for Tom, to yank him closer. “No more games,” he pleaded into Tom's cheek. “I’m here, you have me. No more games.”

Tom’s length pressed in until the wide mushroom-cap head popped in, just brushing the very edge of where Harry _needed_ him to go, and Harry sobbed when he stopped again. “This isn’t a game,” Tom breathed, voice hitching. “This is me, out of control. Say you want me, love.”

“I do,” Harry protested, wriggling and only managing to conquer a scant few millimeters of Tom’s cock. “I do want you. Please, I’ve been _ begging_, and I’ve never _ ever _ —”

Tom pulled out.

“No —” Harry felt the maddened urge to become violent just as Tom surged into him, deeper than before, and instead of slapping the man as he’d originally intended, he pulled him closer by the stranglehold he had on Tom’s robes and brought their mouths together. The kiss was sloppy with Tom’s tired, swollen lips and Harry’s mindlessness, but it was hotter for it — hotter still when Tom continued to pump his hips at that middle depth.

“All the way, Tom, please,” Harry begged into his mouth, peppering kisses across his cheeks and jaw and even his nose. “I want to feel you. Please, my —” He choked himself off as an impossible nickname nearly left his mouth.

“Your what?” Tom murmured, rubbing his mouth against Harry’s in a feather-light caress. “What am I to you, Harry?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry blurted, letting go of Tom’s robes and laying flat on his back again. In his chest an odd pain set in, a sharp pulling sensation. “I’m sorry. I can’t say it — it wouldn’t be — I’m sorry.”

Tom stared down at him, warmth fading from his face until it was flat of emotion… then anger set in. “Is this what you want?” he asked, thrusting in hard, the width of him hitting every good spot in Harry even as his hand came up to press against Tom’s shoulder, worried about the furious, _ devastated _ look on his face.

“Is this _ all _ you want?” Tom demanded, pushing harder, fucking Harry open deeper and deeper until their bodies slammed together with every thrust, slapping and squelching sounds filling the room due to the excessive amount of lube Tom had distractedly applied. “Is… this… all I get… from you?”

Harry fought to keep his eyes rolling back in his head, fought to keep control of himself, but all he could reply with were grunts and desperate moans that got nowhere close to conveying the _ ‘Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,’ _ that he yearned to say.

His balls tightened up against his body in record time, his pelvis flush with heat and that sweet, curling pleasure that hardened and grew sharp-edged as Tom’s dry hand began to pull at his cock roughly, that merciless upward twist making him shout. 

_ 'I'm sorry, so very sorry.' _

“I hate you… so much… right now,” Tom groaned, and through Harry’s blurry view he could see the sheen of tears building on two burgundy points above him. “More than anyone else in this _ entire _ world. I hate you. I _ hate _ you.”

Harry’s body arched and contracted as he was struck with the most painful orgasm of his entire life. His dick hurt, his prostate hurt, but mostly his heart and streaming eyes hurt… but it altogether felt so impossibly good that his voice cracked and then his screaming came out as a hissing rush of air, instead.

After, Tom collapsed on him, panting and shaking, wetness reaching through Harry’s robes to dampen his shoulder. “I hate you so much,” he said again. “Why don’t you love me?”

Harry covered his face with his hands and hated himself, too. What the _ fuck _ was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just tell Tom how he felt?

_'I'm sorry.'_

“Get out,” Tom said after they’d straightened themselves out. He had sat himself back down in his chair, head lowered into the palm of one hand, covering his reddened eyes from view.

“Tom,” Harry pleaded, having tried a dozen times to apologize.

“Please, Harry, just _ go_.”

He sounded so tired. Not even angry anymore, just exhausted. Biting his lip with indecision, Harry stayed for just a moment longer, before casting a nonverbal Numbing Charm at his sore hips so that he wouldn’t limp tellingly as he left.

He looked back once he was outside the room, but before he’d closed the door all the way.

Tom’s shoulders were shaking, his expression still covered by that hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like how the scene change graphic can either look like the top hand is tentatively reaching out, or pulling back depending on what you're feeling when you look at it. I deffy feel like it's scared and pulling away during that last scene 😭😭😭
> 
> (This has been explicitly stated a couple places in the fic so far, but just a quick reminder that Harry and Draco are not married. There was some confusion over that and I just want to clarify that point. They're boyfriends and by Harry's definition they're not IN love with each other nor do they love each other. Harry specifically noted that in the second chapter when Draco is uncharacteristically nice to him and called him 'love,' so I feel confident saying it here; it's not a spoiler or anything. 11-12 years ago when I was still dating, people remembered dating anniversaries 🤷 Sorry for any confusion.)
> 
> When the fic is finished I'll offer the completed fic as a Google Doc without any of these long, annoying notes. Sorry.


	10. Chapter 10

# Chapter Ten

Tom had angrily fired a Scourgify up Harry's hole as he pulled out, so Harry had the extreme misfortune of spending the rest of his morning with the unusual pain of his colon being far too dry _ and _ loose at the same time. He knew he deserved it, so he lived with the discomfort instead of slipping into the loo and correcting the problem... but it did rather firm up his resolve to never have a household Scouring Charm shot up his butt ever again.

In any case, the sight of Tom's eyes glistening and _ 'why don't you love me?' _ circling around his head like a fucking cuckoo bird gone absolutely bloody nuts were a far greater torture than the gritty pain in his backside could ever be. He checked in with Robards, Kingsley, Peasegood, and poured over some documents highlighting the movements of their suspected Frenchmen that had found their way to his desk as if by magic, choked his lunch down alone at Grimmauld while staring at the perfect lettering, and he did it all feeling so profoundly lost.

Was it over, then? Just like that... nothing Harry could do?

And if it was, would it be so terrible? Their liaison was spiraling out of control — Harry's _ feelings _ were spiraling out of control. And clearly Tom's were as well — he'd said as much several times that morning. But as his rational mind thought those things, he felt that same insane desire to dig his nails into his face again and _ tear_. As he'd discovered just that morning, he was _ not ready _ for his thing with Tom to be over.

There was so much about Tom that was the_ best _ Harry had ever seen in a person. His looks, his _ smell_, the way Harry felt around him… nervous and shivery and _ happy_… Tom's skill in regards to his job, spellcrafting, even his bloody handwriting all inspired Harry to awe. He was the sexiest bloody bastard Harry had ever met — he didn't think there was anyone in this world who could take him apart as well as Tom could. Not being around him (even right then, as he was thinking about it all) was giving him an actual physical ache and desire to go back and smooth things over.

But the responsibility of the day, as well as that same amorphous feeling that held him back time and time again... that tugging chest pain that reminded him of his duty to Draco... kept him right where he needed to be all afternoon: watching Kingsley's Senior Undersecretary slip into Robards' office for a closed-door meeting, and then slipping on his Cloak and following him, and placing a few very necessary Confundus Charms when the man was not as discrete as he thought he was as he delivered news of the search to the other Heads.

At half-of-four, Harry sent very superficial _ highly _coded memos to Tom and Hermione, using lots of unrelated words to say that all the Department Heads were now aware of the sweep that would be happening the next day, and any potential eavesdroppers had been summarily taken care of. He tried not to think about how Tom would feel to receive the blasé letter and hoped he wasn't so angry that he blasted it apart before reading the postscript which was a very circuitous comment about the weather that actually meant _ 'I'm sorry.' _

As afternoon wore on to evening, he put back on his Cloak and illegally requisitioned every Sneakoscope — Short-Range or otherwise — Foe-Glass, Dark Detector, and every set of Curse-Breaker Goggles they had and cast a couple spells that would cause any magical human, creature, mundane animal, (and then, after a moment’s consideration, Muggle) to suddenly remember something much more important than the empty spaces he'd left behind on the shelves.

He apportioned them out along with a variety of basic field gear and put them into the various pouches and pockets of the large stash of yet-to-be-used trainee packs that perpetually filled one corner of the room. It took hours to complete the task, but eventually he was able to separate them into eleven sets of ten — with one pair of Goggles to a pack.

Surveying the huge pile and feeling a bit like an Auror Father Christmas, he shrank them down, one by one, and pocketed each set in a different pocket of his robes and trousers.

"Sir," he called from the door of Robards' office.

Robards stood immediately. "Come in Auror Potter, and close the door."

Harry followed the order quickly, unloading a trouser pocket as he did so.

"The search tomorrow is you, isn't it?" Robards asked, voice tense. Harry dropped the doll-sized backpacks onto Robards' pristine desk and cast _ finite _ on them by way of answer.

"Don't let anyone see those until mobilization," Harry ordered. He received less joy from commanding Robards that time then usual, not that he was surprised. He'd not felt up to cracking a single smile all day. Every time he came close to finding something funny he remembered Tom's shoulders shaking as the door closed between them.

"_Harry,_" Robards said, voice low and urgent. "Is it really so wise to announce to the _ entire Ministry _ there's going to be a search _ hours _ before it happens? They’re going to run and we’ll never see who it was — how much was leaked!”

Harry finished his double-check of the contents of the bags — all properly resized and undamaged, beautiful — and met Robards’ eyes, contemplating how much to say. Finally, he forced a calming smile and shook his head. “It will be fine, sir. Don’t worry. Just follow the instructions handed down by the Minister and don’t worry about how it will effect the case. Take a Calming Draught if you can’t fake it. Is that all you wished to say to me sir?”

Robards frowned, unhappy. “You seem to be handling the lack of my authority well.”

Harry cracked a short laugh, (_‘why don’t you love me?’_) sobered, and then headed for the door. “I have a lot to do today, sir. If you’ll excuse me…”

“Of course, Auror.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry told him firmly, meeting Robards' eyes without flinching.

Robards sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Harry patted his pockets, feeling the Shrunken lumps in each one. “It’s better to hope I know what our perpetrator will do. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I’m going to be busy till late, tonight, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Harry didn’t let Robards’ questions get to him. He understood that the man was under an insane amount of pressure. There was an enormous strike against the Ministry going on, their state secrets in more danger every passing second, and he’d signed away all his authority but none of his responsibility to an Auror he still felt was green on the force. If the case became anything other than a smashing success, all the blame would fall to him and those first few orders he’d given Harry before giving up all control.

Harry took deep breaths as he strode through the wide halls of the greater department, heading for the stairs that led up to the Head office and Tutala. He was lost in his head, preparing himself for the delicate subterfuge that might be necessary with the woman, when he rounded the top of the staircase only to come face to face with Draco.

“Draco?” Harry said, blinking in surprise at the same time as Draco’s own shocked, “Harry!”

There was a brief pause before Draco laughed, Harry following half a breath later, more due to his wish for everything to seem normal, than from true humor.

“Visiting your department Head?” the blond asked when his short-lived laughter was done.

Harry shrugged. “My casework has all been reassigned, since I’ll be working with Riddle. I’m running errands for Robards.” He let himself emulate a favorite expression of Draco’s mother, a displeased raise of his lip that always reminded Harry of the first time he’d seen her, when he thought she'd looked as if she were smelling dog poo. He knew the emotion it conveyed would be instantly recognizable to the blond.

Draco smirked. “Demoted to junior undersecretary, Potter? My, my.”

“Oh, hush,” Harry replied mildly, his eyes trailing past Draco towards Madam Tutala’s closed door. “She in there with anyone?”

“Not at the moment; but she's probably studying the ambassador schedule that I just turned in. Hey, I have to run… lots of work to get done before I… get even more work done. Will you come over tonight?”

Harry’s gaze snapped to Draco’s. The intent behind the low tone of his voice could not be mistaken. “I’m working late —” he started regretfully, before Draco interrupted.

“Me too! It’s nothing big… it’s just… well, it’s been a few days, hasn't it? And I think tonight I want to cash in on that _ thing _ you agreed to owe me…”

Harry’s stomach lurched, and he fought the urge to cover his mouth as the _ ‘thing’ _ they’d be doing flashed horrifically behind his eyes. “Ah.”

“Yeah? My place?” Draco asked, smiling widely. Harry couldn’t quite meet his gaze.

“Sure. I’ll head over when I’m done, then,” Harry agreed, voice sounding thin and off to his ears.

“If I’m not there yet you could be… waiting for me,” Draco said suggestively. “_Ready _ and waiting.”

Harry swallowed, and there was so much spit there that he didn’t recall letting accumulate. It made a high, strangled gurgle past the lump in his throat and he controlled a wince, wondering if it was audible enough for Draco to hear as well. “Sure,” he said finally, exhausted by all that was going on inside his head.

“Uh, Harry, forgetting something?” Draco asked, voice impatient, as Harry made to continue past him. Harry blinked, and turned, and there he was head tilted and chin up slightly as if to receive a kiss, lips shining as if he'd just wet them.

“I thought you said you didn't want to kiss at work.”

“Well, _I_ don’t work here,” Draco said, giving Harry what the blond surely thought was a winning smile. He didn’t know exactly what it meant that Draco refused to be kissed in _his_ office and yet had no problem being kissed not twenty meters from _Harry’s_ _boss’s_ office. Was it right to be wary of a double standard when it resulted in his boyfriend wanting affection? Shouldn't he just be grateful? It was _Draco_. He would never do anything to hurt Harry, ever. He was sure of it.

He'd _try_ to analyze Draco but... as he’d come to expect, he still couldn’t figure out how genuine Draco’s expression was. Was it meant to allure, or challenge?

Harry thought he’d dithered long enough (if the unmistakable frown on his boyfriend’s face was any indication) and he bent forward dutifully to kiss Draco. The demand of his mouth was familiar (much more familiar than the odd gentleness from the previous weekend) and as the expected thump behind his heart occurred, Harry felt something tense and hard in his chest loosen into it. Draco's lips were the same baby-softness he'd come to know so well, the bitterness of his favorite tea a strong flavor covering Harry's tongue, his mouth fighting Harry's in the way that he'd eventually begun to feel fond over, rather than irritated with, after several months of exposure to it.

He'd worked for this. Worked to feel content with this style of kissing, worked to ignore the taste of his nasty custom-blended tea, worked to compromise with sex, worked to turn annoyance into forbearance. It wasn't _ fire_. It wasn't even love, yet, but it was _ history _ and comfort and Harry didn't feel right walking away from it all. As the seconds ticked by, even the heavy weight of both his and Tom's pain faded from his awareness. There was only Draco, and the feeling of falling backwards into what he'd come to know as well as _ expelliarmus_.

"Alright," Draco said as he pulled away. He was laughing a little, though the tone felt off... but perhaps it was Harry's imagination. "Goodness, Harry, I was just going for a little peck! You always get so carried away."

"Sorry," he muttered in return, wondering at what point it seemed like he'd gotten 'carried away.' Draco had attempted to control the entire kiss, just the way he'd always done. "I'll see you later, then."

"Yes," Draco agreed, grin turning wicked, the expression practically shouting at him exactly what he was looking forward to most — though, was the expression excited? Or vicious? Harry swallowed, that hypnotic comfort almost fading entirely at the reminder of what was yet to come as they walked away from each other.

“Ma’am,” Harry called after he’d knocked on Tutala's closed door.

“Come in,” she called, voice terse.

He entered with a swift turn of the knob, and headed towards his desk, emptying his pockets already.

“Oh, are those for the search tomorrow?” she asked, setting her quill in its holder as she peered at the small pile he’d resized next to her.

“I’m not sure what they’re for, and I was told not to ask questions,” Harry lied in a mild tone. Not two hours after getting the news of a _secret fucking search_ and she blabbed to someone not supposed to know.

Madame Tutala frowned. “Why did Robards send you instead of a junior undersecretary?”

“I will be working with Mr. Riddle, as a part of his escort, next week. My cases have been reassigned and in the meantime I have little to do except study Mr. Riddle’s schedule.” 

He assumed parade rest while waiting to be dismissed, which she did after giving him an assessing, mistrustful stare.

“Go on, then. I assume I was the first delivery?”

“Of course, ma’am. Good day.”

He let out a tense breath after leaving her office, taking a moment to shake off the rebellious lick of anger he typically felt while reporting to her. Robards was right… she was ‘adequate enough,’ as their boss, but Harry hated her attitude and the way she made his fellow Aurors feel like they were never meeting her expectations the way her precious Hit Witches and Wizards did. Even just now, that look she’d gave him before sending him away made his head and neck heat up with restrained loathing.

He breathed evenly, focused his mind on his day’s task, and by the time he wandered in through Percy Weasley’s open door in the Department of Magical Transportation, he had mostly retrieved back that sinking calm he'd gained through Draco's kiss. Just like the day before, he'd realized that he'd _forgotten_ the ease of their relationship until that kiss brought back the well-worn, familiar aspects of their partnership. He was resolved to get through the favor he let Draco think Harry owed him, but then they would need to have a serious talk about getting the relationship back on track. He was committed. He thought Draco was as well... they just needed to adjust the dynamic a little, that's all.

Somehow… someday, he would have to give up Tom, too.

But not yet.

He wasn't ready yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the Problematic Ship Flash Fest I almost forgot to post this today! Glad I remembered.
> 
> The next chapter will be posted in two days, on Monday morning (Sunday night for a lot of you) and will contain *extremely* dubious consent (even closer to non-con than before,) and potential gender dysphoria triggers as Harry pays his supposed debt. The technical climax of the story is later, but next chapter definitely contains the highest negative emotions of the entire fic so... maybe set aside a fluffy or cracky fic to read afterwards 😥😥😥 Just preparing you because I worry a bit about what I've done 😨😨😨


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a STRONG extremely dubious consent/terrified consent warning for this chapter. While were at it, let's just go ahead and call it straight up non-con. Light gender dysphoria warning, but it's less specific this time since we already know what's going on.
> 
> A further warning... the situation in this chapter is obviously fabricated, but what's going on inside Harry's is very real, replicated with great fidelity from my own experiences. If you need to skip parts, do. Take care of your emotional safety, okay?

# Chapter Eleven

* * *

* * *

As six forty-five rolled around, the supply kits had all been delivered and Harry had briefed Kingsley once again on the exact procedure to be carried out the next day. There were many moving parts and _none_ of the participants could know about the search or their roles until a few hours before it. Hit Wizards and witches were to replace the mail delivery staff on every floor, and the entire Owelry office was to be restaffed with people from the Department of Mysteries, with Aurors in mixed-team pairs manning all exits.

The amount of Polyjuice he'd had to owl-order had made him sweat, but the apothecary responded to his request for a status update with the assurance that they held the stock and were set to deliver at the exact time he'd specified, so he tried his best to set the anxiety of supply to the side, even if the huge chunk of budget he'd used for it was still gnawing away at him.

He had bigger things to worry about at the moment anyway, such as the fact that it was time to head down for his seven o'clock meeting with Tom. Part of him wondered if Tom even wanted to see him at all, or if he would just make things worse by showing up at the appointed time like everything was fine… like Tom wasn't hurting at all.

But Tom was already standing, waiting for Harry behind his desk, when he knocked on the doorframe.

"Come in… close the door."

Goosebumps prickled all over Harry's skin at the softly spoken command. Harry did as asked and then turned to face Tom, both men silent and considering the other for a full, strained minute.

"I'd like to say 'sorry' for my behavior earlier, but I just can't bring myself to do it," Tom finally said. "I can't apologize… it would be a lie. I lie to everyone I meet... but I don't want to be that way with you."

Harry's heart ached. "I don't want that eith—"

"I am… a little appalled by how much I've come to need you in such a short period of time," Tom continued, ignoring Harry as if the interruption hadn't occurred at all. "But the feeling is there, and my father had advised me as a boy that such a thing would be out of my control. What _ is _ in my control, however, is how much I'm hurt by it. By you."

One of Tom's shoulders lifted, restless, then settled back down before he continued.

"Harry, I need you to break up with Draco if you want to continue seeing me. I _need_," Tom stressed, his eyes somehow managing to be soft and uncompromising at the same time, "you to choose me."

Harry gaped. With a sudden swell of feeling, a suffocating storm erupted inside his chest, wrapping around his lungs and igniting the pulling sting on his heart to a painful degree. "I'm sorry," he rasped, his breath puffing out past the stranglehold his warring emotions had on his throat.

"If that is so, then I cannot continue this relationship with you any longer."

“What?” Harry asked, stunned. “_You _ pursued _ me_! _ Hard_! Just this morning you —”

“I did,” Tom interrupted calmly, staring at his knuckles where they pressed harshly against the wood of his desk, “and now I’m in — my apologies, by _ your _ definition — I _ love _you, and I’m not content with you by half, anymore.”

Harry’s fingertips clutched at his cheeks, a gesture not missed by Tom's oddly blank gaze. “It’s only been _three_ _days_ since I gave you _ any _ of me at all. Only _ three_!”

“Four,” Tom corrected. “You kissed me on Monday, not that I haven't been slowly losing my mind since I first touched you on that damned balcony. And I’ve been… intrigued by you far longer than you even knew of my existence.”

"You can't love me," Harry whispered, nose stinging and liquid heat racing along the waterline of his eyes. "Even Draco doesn't love me."

"Then end it with him and choose me."

And he _wanted_ to, but at the same time he realized that, he was filled with a counterweight of guilt and shame. Acid rose in his middle in a surge so strong that he could only clutch at the stabbing in his stomach and try to breathe around that ongoing tearing sensation in his chest which had grown _so much_ worse with Tom's ultimatum.

"I'm sorry," he forced out, and despite the fact it was the only thing he could force his lips to say, he really, truly _was_.

Tom was still, looking at him for a long moment. It appeared to Harry as if he was trying to appear unaffected and removed, but there was nothing Tom's face or body could hide from him by that point of their acquaintance and Harry read the pain in his dark eyes loud and clear. His heart twisted, the ripping intensifying still more; even like this, Tom was such a _ beautiful _ man.

"If that's the case, then open the office door and let's get to work," Tom said, turning away from Harry, pretending to better position his chair for sitting.

"Tom —"

"It's Mr. Riddle," he corrected, and this time his eyes _ were _ cold... two hard garnets set in a granite face that reflected no sympathy for the man he'd professed to love. He gestured towards the door sharply while his other hand. “The door, Auror Potter.”

Harry bit his lip, stopping just before he might have broken skin, and spun on his heel, his body falling into formation in his intense need for control. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready. His eyes were burning and he wasn’t _ ready _ for this, God _ damn _it.

“Are any of my employees still at work?” Tom asked, voice impressively idle.

“A few,” Harry said, glancing around and seeing the bald head of the man he thought might be one of the senior undersecretary’s assistants, a head of long auburn hair, and flickering torchlight in the office across from Draco’s — the liaison to the Russian Ministry, Harry thought.

"Hm."

Harry ignored the flat vocalization behind him in order to lean out the doorway, peering down the wall to see that Draco's office was still open and dark. _ 'At least he won't be around to hear Tom's and my stilted conversation,' _ he thought, realizing that Draco had probably left work as soon as he heard that Tom would be working late as well. He was likely home already, hooked up in his office there.

Tom cleared his throat pointedly, and Harry pulled his head back into the office and shut the door with a tension-relieving sigh.

This was going to be awful.

"Here," Tom said after Harry had gathered up all the documents he'd been given. "I made this with the intention of giving it to you when the case was solved, but just go ahead and take it." His voice was effortfully careless and his form jerky and tense as he laid something on the desk with a clunk, turning away so he couldn't see Harry's reaction.

It was a good gift.

Tom had transfigured two of the crystal statues (and Harry didn't know which ones which was a really big deal when it came time for the trial but he couldn't think about that now because they'd been formed) into the glittering shapes of the two of them, the base ringed with the familiar railing of their balcony and a seam running down the middle where the two statues could be pulled apart and separated. As he watched, crystal Tom bent his head to kiss the bespectacled Harry statue, once on each cheek and then they mutually came together to kiss on the mouth. Crystal Harry's hands were shaking as he hesitantly wrapped his arms around his lover's shoulders.

Harry's eyes filled. "Tom —"

"Please shut the door behind you."

And so he did, hiding his precious secret in his pocket as he went.

Harry had been right. His meeting with Tom had been the worst two hours of his life since the war. He'd forgotten just how torturous emotional pain could get. As an Auror, physical pain was something he felt and had healed once a week or more (and there was no shortage of heartache for victims and the children who got caught in criminal adult's games) but the internal shredding he felt as Tom ran him through the particulars of his new job — schedules, escort protocol, event etiquette — as if they meant nothing to each other at all had been _ excruciating_.

The two crystal statues hung heavily in Harry’s pocket, just like his torn heart hung heavy in his chest. He couldn't believe how perfect it should have been. He would have remembered the case and how they’d come together during it every time he saw the transfigured couple... if he could have just said yes. (But he couldn't, and he didn't exactly know why, only that it was impossible.)

Now he'd forever remember Tom's shaking shoulders as the door closed and the way he'd just dismissed Harry with a disparaging curl of his lip.

* * *

_ 'Apparate,' _ he cast nonverbally as he spun on his heel in the Ministry's designated Apparation point, thinking of the Malfoy's entrance hall. He had a promise to keep, a debt to repay, after all.

"Draco? Is that you, dear?" he heard Narcissa call out.

"No, ma'am, it's just me," Harry responded politely. She entered the room with short, quick steps as he spoke and he got to witness the absolute _ treat _ of her face falling in disappointment and disgust at the sight of him.

"Oh," she said, turning her head and peering at him from the side as if she didn't want to gift him with her full attention.

"Did you just get back from a party?" he asked, keeping his tone light and respectful despite her disregard. It's what Draco would want, after all. "You look very nice."

Her hand floated down the shimmering silver length of her dress robes, the extra rings she’d placed on her fingers glinting in the blue-light of the magically lit chandelier. "Yes," she said finally, voice stilted. "A celebration, in fact. Goodnight."

She walked away, back straight and head held high as if trying to lift herself above the inferiority Harry apparently wafted into the air around him as he breathed. He resisted the urge to flip off the back of her head, knowing if Draco Apparated in and saw it he would _ not _ be pleased.

He headed towards his boyfriend’s office first, thinking he might have chosen to work there, avoiding an evening spent with his boss, but it was empty. He felt vaguely surprised, until he remembered Draco's comment about being 'ready and waiting,' and then he turned around and headed for Draco's bedroom — stomach twisting with cold dread about what he might find behind the door. What if _ Draco _was ready and waiting?

_ 'It's better to get it over with quickly,' _ he told the awful feeling. _ 'Him being there and ready to begin right away is far better than sitting around and waiting for it to happen like he'd wanted.' _

He was simultaneously relieved and dismayed when Draco wasn't in his room, either.

"Preparation, then," he said firmly. Make a plan, stick to the plan. It was one of many mantras drilled into them in Auror training. Of course, the rest of that mantra was 'the plan will fall apart, make several more,' but for personal motivation Harry tended to stick with just the first half.

_ 'You can do this. Just one more time,' _ Harry mouthed, too cautious to give himself the pep talk out loud as he worked the potion into his flesh, cringing at the changing shape under his fingertips. _ 'Just one more, just to clear the debt Draco thinks I owe him… never again.' _

He ended up waiting just under thirty minutes for Draco to find his way to his bedroom, naked, with the drapes pulled and the bathroom light on. He'd been waiting long enough that his apprehension had faded away and his thoughts had drifted traitorously back to Tom. _ 'By your definition… I love you,' _ he'd said. It wasn't right that he should be laying naked on Draco's bed feeling so gutted by another man's confession, but there he was.

The tearing sensation was back in his chest as he kept involuntarily replaying that moment: _ 'I love you... I love you... I love you...' _ It was a novel anguish, like there were two conjoined hearts in his chest and they were trying to rip themselves apart. He'd never felt such a thing before in his life, but he'd never been interested in two men at the same time, either, so he guessed the sensation fit. 

Understanding it didn't make it hurt any less, though, and in the dead silence of the room he was unable to stop thinking of Tom's pain, and so when the sound of the door handle to Draco's room turning finally reached his ears, Harry had to quickly wipe his tears on the bedspread before he was caught mourning.

"My, _ my_," Draco said then, the timbre of his voice declaring loud and clear how lewd he found Harry's appearance to be. For some reason Harry felt judged by the tone, but he purposefully pushed the affronted feeling away, knowing it could only be his imagination. Draco himself had asked him to do this, after all.

"Welcome home," Harry greeted, after a quick clearing of his throat to dispel the lingering lump there.

"This is _ exactly _ what I need," Draco said, and a second later the torches in the bathroom were snuffed. "You wouldn't believe how pent up I am."

"I _ could_," Harry lied, trying to convey a similar need in his voice as if he hadn't cheated with Tom the past two days in a row. His hands shook, so he rolled over into the position Draco had requested from him last time they'd done this and shoved them under his face, faking a leisurely pose. His legs and feet felt equally quivery, but at least those he could press into the bed to keep them still.

"Right," Draco drawled, the disbelief in his voice prompting Harry's body to tense in horrific, guilt-ridden fear. "As if you have so much to worry about, as Robard's _ errand boy_."

The tension left Harry's body in a rush. He was so relieved not to be caught that he didn't even mind the extremely condescending remark. 

Then Draco cleared his throat.

"I'll take care of everything tonight, baby," he said in that soft voice that had starred in Harry's nightmares until Monday when he'd begun slinging back Dreamless Sleep. "You don't have to say anything, I'll take care of it all."

Harry frowned. "You don't want me to speak at all?"

"_I'll take care of everything_," Draco repeated, the words sounding as if they were grit out through clenched teeth. Harry shifted, uneasy, and then stilled as the bed shifted under Draco's added weight. "Don't worry, baby," Draco's voice whispered across his back, voice sweet again. His hand quickly followed, smoothing over the same place he'd fetishised last time — the curviest, most feminine part of Harry's back.

"I've been looking forward to this so much," Draco murmured tenderly, his hand drifting lower and curving around Harry's ass, fingers lingering around the soft skin where his thigh and buttocks met. "You looked wonderful today. All I could think about was being here with you. I'm so excited to finally be with you."

Harry's shakes came back, and he tucked his elbows in against his side hard, hands fisting under his face. Draco seemed to take his shifting as a cue, and his fingers quested inwards.

"What if I ate you out?" Draco said, his touch light on Harry's labia.

Despite his intention to follow along exactly (and therefore not cause any interruptions or slowdowns that would keep him in this hellish circumstance for longer than necessary) Harry let out an uncontrolled negative squawk. The transformation rendered the outside of his hole nearly completely numb. He couldn't take an unpredictable amount of time under Draco's mouth when just that morning his entire universe has been brought to a halt by Tom. He could barely bring himself just to withstand the same fuck-and-go style Draco had treated him to last time.

But Draco chuckled with a warm, low sound, apparently not having been knocked out of his fantasy by the sound of Harry squeaking in fear. "No, not tonight," he said, his high voice lowering in what Harry supposed could have been considered a purr, if he hadn't been completely and totally turned off and scared by the complete uncertainty of what was happening to him.

"We'll have all the time in the world for that," Draco murmured, dipping his finger in-between the false labia and into Harry's loosened passage, the contact stinging and unpleasant as usual.

"So dry, baby… but it's okay. Your body will provide for us."

The weight distribution by his knees shifted then, heavy weights landing one after another by his thighs, his waist, then his shoulders as Draco crawled over him slowly.

"I'm going to make it so good for you, Draco murmured directly into his ear, and Harry recoiled at the loud volume the whisper made directly into his eardrum, compared to the intimate quiet of everything else he'd been muttering.

"I promise… your first time will be the best _ anyone _ has ever had… that's how much I love you."

_ 'By your definition… I love you.' _

Warm water began flowing freely down Harry's face before he'd even had the chance to realize he might start crying again. He bore down on the urge to sob, and lost control of it slightly as Draco lowered himself fully, trapping Harry under his body weight.

Harry shuddered, Draco's warming body heat and his inner panic warring in his mind as two strong hands pulled his buttocks apart. At the fragile core of Harry, he felt a dry, bruising nudge, and couldn't hope to control his resultant gasp of horror.

"Draco, lube!" Harry reminded him, flexing his hips forward, away from Draco’s advance.

"Just a moment, baby," he soothed, sitting up and curling his fingers around Harry’s hipbones in a way that gave Draco total control over Harry’s escape. "See, your body takes care of it… I'll do it quick, to help…"

While Harry was still trying to figure out whether Draco was talking about applying lube quickly or something else, the unforgiving width of Draco punched forward.

"Draco!" Harry screeched, losing all control over the pitch of his voice as a burning, _ stinging _ ache throughout his lower half overwhelmed, robbing him of any conscious thought other than: _ 'Breathe. Survive. Breathe. Survive. Just survive... Just survive.' _

"Oh, baby. Oh, love, how good you must look on me," Draco groaned, overcome, above him. "There, your body is letting me in now… don't you feel good like this?"

Harry gripped the sheets under his head, feeling hot water trickle over the backs of his hands and between his fingers as Draco hit his prostate perfectly with every thrust. Only, this time it felt _ awful _ — like a healing bruise being pressed repeatedly instead of the pleasure he normally felt at such stimulation. Everything about the encounter was _ wrong _ and _ unwanted _ and oddly enough _ this _ felt like he was being unfaithful to someone… but he couldn't convince his mouth to form the words necessary to stop it.

Harry's lips pulled away from his teeth in a grimace of pain as Draco kept uttering compliments about his supposed eagerness and wetness behind him, and his tears quickened again as he felt it… felt the tickling path the simulated vaginal juices took down his thigh. Harry hated it so much… and he hated Draco too, he thought. He hated how Draco put his career above him and then blamed Harry for feeling hurt by his actions. He hated how Draco insisted Harry support him through everything and then afterwards acting like the support he obediently gave was worth nothing.

He hated his tea, his hair, his nightmare house and the traps that still got him sometimes when he wasn't careful where he stepped.

Harry hated this... what Draco was doing to him right at that moment. How Draco was whispering things behind him like '_ you don't know how long I've wanted to have you _ ,' as if they'd not been in a relationship for over a year and ' _ I promise to always make you feel this good _,' as if every muscle in Harry's body wasn't tensed against the persistent pain Draco's initial dry entry had caused and against his own inability to make the motion that would throw Draco off.

He hated that half of his heart was tearing itself away within his chest and how only _ now _ he understood where it was trying to go. It was trying to get to Tom, to the person who didn't make him feel these terrible, terrible things. 

As Draco groaned increasingly desperate messages of gratitude and love into Harry's back, Harry realized with the force of a true epiphany that he'd probably hated his boyfriend for a while. It didn’t feel as _ new _ an emotion as he would have thought, considering Harry'd come into this encounter with the hope that he could just hold on for one more time and save them. Why didn’t he realize he felt this way sooner? (Why, even now, could he not move his mouth to tell the man and end this torture?)

As Draco whispered the kind of praises a woman would enjoy hearing, Harry wondered what true virgin Draco was imagining him to be. It came with a curious feeling of release, that thought. He sank a few centimeters down into the bedding as his fear relaxed and Harry took the wretchedness Draco was giving him with a welcome wave of apathy. The pressure was off. This wasn't about Harry. This weird virginity fetish… the potion… it wasn't about him at all. There was someone else.

It was the only thing that made sense. It made it_ all _ make sense. The weird, cajoling behavior, the weird, cajoling _ sex _ … Harry's inability to read him… it was all because he _ had _ been hiding something from Harry. It just wasn't what he'd been expecting. He wasn't hiding some form of planned vengeance against Harry's repeated transgressions; he was hiding from _ Harry's _ wrath. 

However… unlike _ Harry_, it didn't seem like he'd strayed since he was working out his longing _ with _ Harry, instead of whoever he'd fallen for. Draco was still clumsily trying to make the relationship work, despite where his heart had fallen. Harry could think of no other possibility; all he knew was that Draco was blameless.

Draco’s hips finally began to jerk unevenly, the pain in Harry's backside flaring as the steady pace he'd been able to distract himself from became unpredictable. Then heat soothed the hurts, and Harry felt relief that Draco's come was cushioning the last, selfish strokes into him.

"Did you come, sweet baby?" Draco breathed into Harry’s shoulder.

"Of course," he lied, still feeling that odd disconnected peace. After a few moments, Draco's weight fell a little harder into Harry's back as he stopped sparing Harry the discomfort of being squashed.

"I need to work for a while longer," he confessed into Harry’s back, voice returning to the indifferent drawl he normally used. He then hummed and pressed his softening flesh into Harry’s soreness in a movement borne of purely selfish indulgence, more hot liquid trailing down Harry's perineum and balls towards the bed. "I swear it's never ending. Hours in my office doing _ his _ job this evening, and now that I'm home with you I have to sequester myself away just to keep the department afloat…"

"In your office?" Harry parroted, struck. "Tonight?"

Draco pulled out with an aggrieved exhale. "Yes. Really, I shouldn't do so much, but I worry about the state of the department if I don't. You should have _ seen _ how the French regarded us before I came along… but I don't need to tell you this again."

He rolled off the bed after a last dry kiss to Harry’s shoulder, and Harry turned to look in the direction he thought Draco might be standing in, the trance-like calm rapidly unraveling within the core of his stomach. "You weren't at the Ministry tonight."

"Hm?" was the distracted response as Draco lit the sconces in the bathroom and then clambered back into his trousers.

"I was there... for my entry interview," Harry said, his voice coming out thinner than he’d expected. "You weren't. You… you're lying to me?"

Draco turned to face him slowly, a neutral expression on his face. At the unwelcome sight of it, a twinge deep within Harry's abdomen reasserted itself and he slipped a comforting hand between the bed and his stomach. Draco's head tilted, and his hand twitched by his side. 

“I was there, Harry,” Draco said calmly. “You saw me. You wanted to speak with me, but I was too busy. You waved to me before you left. Don’t you remember?”

Harry gave him an odd look. "Uh, no. Draco, what's going on?"

Instinct made him plan the route to his wand, but loyalty had him turning over, seeking answers from Draco instead.

But Draco was just staring back at him, a bit confused, and then the confusion hardening into something grim.

“Maybe it’s time to put a stop to this,” he said finally.

Harry frowned. His first thought was _ ‘HE KNOWS!’ _ but for someone as typically volatile as Draco… there was no _ fire _ to the words. He sounded rather casual, actually. “Put a stop to…?”

Draco finished buttoning his waistcoat and then settled his open-front robe across his shoulders, beginning to connect the loose gold chains from one shoulder to the next with exaggerated care. Harry would rip them off with his bare hands if Draco didn't start speaking soon. 

“I’ve come a long way professionally," Draco commented, an apparent non-sequitur. "I’m well-respected in my position, which your support helped me get in the first place — thank you, of course... I’ve put on two successful soirees with the cream of the crop invited… here in my own home! Maybe it’s about time I stop relying on your influence to get me where I need to be in life. The Malfoy name could withstand the publicity of a breakup just fine, after all this time and effort I’ve put in to appear publicly as your devoted lover.”

“My _ influence_?” Harry demanded, guilt fading as anger set in. He jumped off the bed as well, not comfortable with remaining naked as they fought, and the ache inside his pelvis tripled as he stood, rocked by sudden dizziness. "_Publicly_?"

Draco cocked his head. “Surely _ you _ knew I was losing interest in keeping our… _ thing _ going, in the past few months. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of Auror-savant? And you had _ no _ idea?” He made a derogatory noise in his throat.

Harry felt the expected twist of humiliation, but there was too much anger developing in his soul to become distracted by it. “So what was all that?” he demanded, jabbing a finger at the bed which in the light he could clearly see had blood stains from his most recent _ deflowering_. Swinging his arm out disturbed his balance, and he stumbled, catching an arm on the bedpost. “That weird virgin bullshit? What did I put up with all that crap for?”

Draco sniffed, chin lifting in disdain. “A thug like you would never understand.”

“Who is she?” Harry asked, ignoring the jab to his sensitivity. “Is it the 'Story' girl?”

“I don’t know what gives _ you _ the —”

“WHO _ IS _ SHE?” Harry hollered, interrupting. “Who was _ I_, when I laid there for you?” He snatched up his robe as he yelled, and stumbled again, accidentally dumping the crystal statuettes Tom had transfigured out of the pocket, which rolled along their shared circular base to Draco’s feet.

Draco reached for it, but Harry's wand flick was quicker. They stood, glaring at each other for a long moment, the shape of Tom and him wrapped around each other safe in Harry's hands.

"I'm getting married," Draco said finally, voice full of spite.

Harry's mouth dropped. "_What_?" he breathed, realizing in that moment that for all his pep talks he’d felt he’d needed to give himself about not doubting Draco, he'd never _ truly _ believed the man would stray like _ Harry _ had.

"The Greengrasses didn't want anything to do with me, after my parent's pitiful showing in the war," Draco said, just as bitterly as when he spoke of the multitude of other things he liked to complain about. "I've worked hard… and she’s remained chaste, this entire time, for _ me, _ can you _ imagine_? Still virgin, at twenty-one?” Draco seemed to swell with pride and a clear-eyed flash of admiration that he’d never _ ever _ directed at Harry before.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence during which Harry just _ stared,_ senseless, Draco shook himself out of his remembrances in order to lift his nose haughtily towards Harry. “She has saved herself for me, just as I've become _ important _ for her. It's only a matter of time before I'm promoted to higher office. All that's left is making a clear, definitive break with _ you _ and they'll agree to a wedding. The final contract terms were agreed upon tonight, actually… so there's no longer any reason to keep up this charade."

"Charade," Harry parroted, numb.

"I'm not gay, Harry," Draco said, face twisting with a combination of pity and disgust as he watched Harry stand there, still and silent in the wake of that horrific revelation. "I never have been. At all. I mean, hello? I couldn't stand to have sex with you unless you turned your ass into a pussy! How _stupid_ do you have to be to not_ get _ it? Anyway, thank you for your help in achieving everything I've worked so hard for — but it's over, now."

Draco then gave a little laugh. 

"It feels _ so good _ to finally say that!" he confessed, and indeed his whole countenance seemed lighter, happier. Harry couldn't breathe, his vision tunneling until a stronger ache below his spine snapped him back out of his daze.

Draco scrutinized him, lips moving into a slash of dissatisfaction.

"You need to go now, Harry," he stated firmly. "We are completely through."

A hot stream of liquid, running too fast and thin to be Draco's cum, trickled from between his buttocks and down Harry's leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight gender dysphoria warning for the chapter as Harry gets help putting himself together.
> 
> No more dub-con or non-con 🙌


	12. Chapter 12

# Chapter Twelve

* * *

* * *

Harry, upon being confronted by his sitting room couch, slid wobbily to the floor.

There was no way he could manage sitting down right now — he barely managed to make it home. He had briefly thought he should to go to St. Mungo's... but something inside him held back from that. They'd ask questions. He hadn't been hurt in the line of duty… so he knew the Healer staff would come to the wrong conclusion about his injury.

Even half reclining on the hardwood hurt terribly, with the way the wet spots on his pants pulled tight against his abused flesh. Giving it up for lost, he laid down fully, grimacing at the copious amounts of dust and hair under the decades old furniture. He really needed to clean more thoroughly.

After... _afterwards,_ as he'd limped, emotionally insensate, out of Malfoy's grand Manor for what must have been the last time, the pain in his arse had gotten worse and worse. By the point he was at then, laying on the floor wrinkling his nose at dirt, he figured he needed to call in help.

There was only one person in the entire world whose comfort he wanted right then.

"_Expecto patronum_," he cast, and a non-corporeal mist rained to the floor from his wand tip.

"Fuck," he whispered. He hadn't failed to cast that spell since he was a kid… and there had been a considerable amount of dementors around at the time.

"Please," he whispered into the wood of his wand, eyes closing against a helpless burn. He couldn't be happy right then. "I need help. Please. _ Expecto patronum_."

This time his stag stumbled out of the end, taking a few shaky steps before firming up into the strong beast Harry knew him to be.

“Harry Potter can be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London,” Harry stated, voice strained with pain. “Go.”

His stag raced off, and Harry groaned, letting himself collapse back down flat again.

“Well, this fucking sucks,” Harry commented to the hairballs and dust bunnies under the couch. His eyes burned, completely without his permission, and he took in a deep, broken breath. “Oh, damn, this really does suck.”

He covered his face with his hands, pressing his palms against his eyes and trying to use pressure to keep from crying _ again_. Not two minutes after his Patronus had run off, an urgent banging came from his front door.

“Harry?” a distinctly welcome voice called through the door.

“_Aberto_,” Harry cast in the direction of the front door, and after a moment’s hesitation, quick, uneven steps entered the house. "I’m here, Tom,” he called tersely.

The steps picked up urgency and direction right away.

“Harry,” Tom breathed, robes swirling around his legs as he spun the corner into the room, looking everywhere at normal height before landing on Harry, sheepishly waving over his shoulder at him from the floor.

“Oh, Merlin, there’s blood,” Tom uttered, staring horrified at what Harry assumed was a couple of stray drips on the seat of his robes.

“Just a little bit, right?” Harry asked, a little alarmed by the horror in Tom’s voice.

“No,” Tom said, finally snapping out of his shock and hurrying forward. “Harry there’s a line of drips and bloody heel prints from the door all the way here… your robes are… what the fuck did he _ do _ to you?”

“It’s probably worse than usual, then” Harry said tightly. “I know… you are angry with me, but —”

“_Harry_,” Tom interrupted, scolding. “You need St. Mungos.”

“_No_,” Harry insisted quickly. “No, I can’t do that. I can’t — can’t —” The words ‘can’t hurt Draco,’ sat uncomfortably at the back of his tongue, but he just couldn’t bring himself to implicate the man.

“Hey, I’m here,” Tom soothed, clearly out of his depth to the point where his anxiously hovering hands over Harry’s arm were comically awkward. “I can brew anything you need… but I don’t know what’s wrong…”

“Must be a fissure, I guess,” Harry said, wincing at a fresh stab. “I’ve heard they can happen if you’re not careful, but I didn’t realize they’d hurt this bad.”

“I — I need to see it. To know what properties the potion needs. You’ll need a potion against infection on top of one to heal the… tears…”

“Tom, it’s okay,” Harry soothed. “Um, I’d rather get cleaned up first…”

Tom’s fist pounded the couch above Harry’s head unexpectedly, and Harry automatically tensed in a shock of fear, then groaned as things he’d been deliberately holding as relaxed as possible clenched hard and then released again

“It’s _not_ okay,” Tom whispered harshly, and Harry peered back and up at him in time to see the first tear fall. “It’s not okay. Did I do this? When I… broke it off, did I just send you running to him? Is this… all my fault?”

“Shh,” Harry susurrated, rolling over carefully to take Tom’s face into his hands and wipe the falling tears away. It was a deeply uncomfortable thing, to see such a strong, accomplished man brought to tears, but Harry’s heart, still tearing itself in half, tugged ever closer to Tom at the sight of them.

“It’s not your fault,” he insisted, keeping his voice gentle and nonjudgmental as possible. “If it’s anyone’s it’s mine because I could have stopped it, but I didn’t. I needed to see the debt through, anyway... so maybe it’s best that I didn’t.”

“There was no debt!” Tom shouted, the volume of his voice at complete odds with the softness of Harry’s fingers on his wet skin. “_He _ didn’t get you that ‘job interview’ he saw you come in for… you did! He didn’t do anything at all except —”

“Invite _ you _ to the party where you first met me,” Harry interrupted, finishing his sentence for him. “Exactly what he thinks I owed him for. In any case, I needed a cover for why I was there, and when he spoke of debts it was too late to retract my words. He takes debts seriously. It would not have been good to let him have one on me, no matter how trivial it seems to _ you _.”

“You could have said no to the payment,” Tom insisted angrily.

Harry turned his head and looked at the cracks in his ceiling. “I have a hard time saying no to him,” he confessed. “It was easier to just… get through it.”

“Enough of this,” Tom commanded. “I need to see it, since you obviously don’t understand the severity of what has happened to you.”

“I consented.”

“You’ve _ left a trail of blood _ and now you are laying in a _ puddle_,” Tom hissed, completely incensed. “I’m going to look now. Tell me if you become uncomfortable and we can take a pause, but I’ll need to see exactly what we need to heal.”

“Tom,” Harry said urgently, grabbing Tom’s moving arm in sudden remembrance. “It’s… it’s not… he doesn’t —”

Tom laid a hand on the fingers clutching his sleeve, and took a deep breath, then two. “I’m sorry for my temper,” he said in a flat tone. “I promise you despite my bedside manner I do not wish you any harm. I wish you’d _ never been harmed_!”

“Tom… that’s not what I — you should know… when you look… Draco, he — fucking _ hell _ this is hard,” Harry breathed, blinking away fresh tears borne of deep, painful humiliation. “He told me tonight that he’s not gay… and that he never has been. That’s why… he — _ we _would only do it if I — if I used a potion on myself,” he choked out all in a rush.

The fingers on his own tightened. “What did he insist you do to yourself?”

Harry’s breaths were coming faster. He couldn't — the way that question... he couldn't answer. “It’s the thing. It’s the thing I can’t say, please, Tom…”

“Shall I look?”

Harry pressed his forehead to the floor, eyes pressed shut as hard as he could squeeze them.

“_No_,” he muttered. “Yes. Just do it. Please, don’t… don’t…” 

_ ‘— don’t think I’m disgusting,’ _ Harry finished in his head. _ ‘Don’t realize how pathetic I am.’ _

Tom was silent for a long moment, though Harry never opened his eyes to check his expression. When his hand let go of Harry’s, Harry let go of Tom as well and covered his head with both arms, hiding. Slowly, his robes were lifted and his trousers unbuttoned, and with grunts of pain and hissed out breaths that might have been outright groans if not stifled, Harry lifted his hips for them to be slid down.

“I need you to roll over again,” Tom told him, voice thick again.

He assisted in turning Harry over, and Harry’s arms tightened around his head in anticipation of those eyes and fingers discovering his dark humiliating secret.

“What — the ever-loving fuck…” Tom breathed finally.

Harry’s entire body shivered, though not from cold.

“I will kill him,” Tom said definitively. “I am going to _ murder _ that arrogant little fuck —”

“Tom, don’t,” Harry protested.

“Your perfect, _ beautiful _ little…” Tom began to lament before pulling himself together. “How long does this last? You said it was a potion? Topical or oral? Do you know any of the components?”

“It lasts a few hours,” Harry replied, voice small under the shelter he’d made of his arms. “It’s topical. I’ve never tried to heal it… I was worried about it healing in that shape permanently.”

“It’s entirely possible,” Tom agreed, voice as pained as Harry’s. “We’ll need to neutralize the effects of the potion before healing, just in case of that very thing. Do you have Dr. Nunce’s Neutralization Drops on hand?”

“I have never even heard of that,” Harry confessed, peeking out of his arms a slight amount. Then Tom was there, moving Harry’s arms the rest of the way apart.

“I love you,” Tom said fiercely, glaring down at him. “I _ hate _ what you’ve done to yourself and I _ hate _ that it wasn’t even just the first time, and I _ hate _ that blond asshole for ripping you open like this, but I still love you and I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not even going to leave you — but for a brief moment. Is he liable to come blasting down your door while I go fetch the Drops from my home? It’s not too far, and I will be hurrying.”

Harry looked away from those burning eyes. “No. He was quite happy to finally tell me it’s over, actually. He won’t be anywhere near me… ever.” Another trail of wetness dripped down his temple. He’d put so much effort into Draco.

“There is obviously something _ very _ wrong with him,” Tom said firmly. “And come tomorrow morning, he will find himself out of a job — in the very _ least_.”

“_Tom _ —”

“No, Harry, this is all business. I can’t have someone with this poor moral fortitude representing _ my _ department to the entirety of France. Abusing his romantic partner... besides, their opinion of us has become shaky at _ best _under his influence, anyway. I’ve already written a several-foot-long report on why he’s not the best person for the job, this is just the very last straw that will see me actually turning it in to the Minister’s office.”

Tom leaned down to press a quick kiss to his cheek, but Harry snatched at his clothes and wouldn’t let him go with just that.

“Please,” he whispered, eyes filling for the hundredth time. “I’m so sorry.”

Tom pressed a warm kiss to Harry’s forehead, lingering there for a moment while Harry soaked up the warmth implied in the gesture. No one had ever done that for him before, and he was amazed at how such a simple thing had the power to both break and mend his heart at the same time.

“You’re fine, Harry,” Tom whispered into his fringe. “It’s clear now that there was a lot of things going on that I just didn’t know about. Whatever hold he still has on you… we’ll break it together. I don’t know how… but I want to try, okay?”

“You’ll come back?”

Those lips grazed his forehead again. “Of course I will,” Tom promised. “I’ll run everywhere that I can’t Apparate.”

“Okay.”

“I love you,” Tom murmured yet again, disentangling himself. “I’ll be right back.” Without a second’s wait, he Disapparated right where he stood.

It took even less time for Tom to leave and come back than he had to initially arrive. The crack of his Apparation sounded in the entry hall, followed by the sound of the door closing, and there he was, rounding the corner with a straw basket full of bottles.

“I realized only after I left that I’d left your front door wide open,” he explained as he came back to kneel beside Harry again. “I also recalled I left the door open _ and _ you laying here defenceless with your trousers down, and nearly shat myself.”

Harry laughed at the coarse language combined with the mental image it produced, then groaned as he jostled his internal injury as a result.

“The bleeding had stopped, it seems,” Tom assessed, and Harry heard the clunking of full jars being placed on the floor and the _ pop _ of airtight corks being released. “Have you been taking any potions recently?”

“Just Dreamless Sleep, and the balm you used on me yesterday,” Harry reported.

“Feels like it was ages ago,” Tom murmured, then questioned, “How often on that Dreamless Sleep?”

“Every night this week.”

“Hold up a hand.”

Harry obeyed, noticing his shaking was still present, just less intense.

“Magically cultivated valerian is very strong,” Tom warned. “That trembling is a warning. You are taking it too often.”

“I had to,” Harry said quietly, letting his hand fall. “It was getting to me… I had nightmares after the first time.”

“With me?” Tom asked, affronted.

Harry startled. “No,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Tom who’d paused with his finger plugging the tip of a green glass bottle complete with drip nozzle. “The first time… on Friday.”

Tom’s face hardened. “Will you tell me about it?” he asked, voice far calmer than his rigid expression. “I will apply the Drops now. It is guaranteed to sting… sorry.”

“I know a Numbing Charm,” Harry added quickly, before it could be applied.

“Best use it,” Tom agreed. “I didn’t study healing charms at all — in school or after,” he admitted as Harry cast it at himself.

“They weren’t taught at Hogwarts very thoroughly,” agreed Harry, twisting his torso more once he could do so without erupting in pain. “The academy has a whole class on it, though and I needed to get a pass to graduate.”

“Which you did, with honors,” Tom said, casually dropping in that bit of knowledge like it wasn’t a big deal for him to know things about Harry he hadn’t told the man himself. “It’s working.”

Harry craned his neck, but he was never going to bend enough to see his own asshole.

“Here,” Tom offered, conjuring a mirror, and holding it steady.

“A little more to the left — sorry, my left. Thanks.”

There had only been a small cut on the base of the simulated vagina, but as he watched his anus tighten and reform itself into a proper pucker, he could see just how angry-red and swollen the whole area was, and that small cut looked more like a nasty tear when completely reformed back into firm muscle.

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” Tom murmured softly, already working to wipe away the excess Neutralizing Drops so they wouldn’t counteract whatever healing tonic he’d brought. “Are you ready to tell me about it yet?”

"Where do I even begin?" Harry asked, laying back down and covering his eyes with a hand. "I've used the potion every time were had sex for a little under a year, now. I would just prepare myself in the bathroom before that, but he found the recipe — somewhere — and never wanted it any other way."

"He never wanted_ you _ any other way," Tom corrected cruelly.

Harry froze briefly. "Yes, well, I guess it turned out that was true," he said, voice tightening with the resurgence of tears. “He was pretending I was someone else. That’s what you wanted to know, right? Friday he pretended I was someone else and I knew it and it fucked me up.”

"I'm sorry, love," Tom sighed. "It's not you I'm mad at… not really. It's _ him_. I'm not always very nice."

"It's not like I didn't know that," Harry conceded, though the remark had definitely stung.

"You just deserve so much _better_," Tom raged. Then he took a calming breath. "I need to apply this healing ointment on any damage that may be inside. Are you going to be… okay with me doing that?"

Harry frowned at him. "I'm not afraid of you," he said, a little surprised that Tom was even worried about it.

"If you need me to stop at any time during the application, just tell me," he was told very seriously.

"Tom, really… I wasn't… you know. It was awful, but it was consensual."

"There is nothing about your wounds which looks consensual," Tom refuted quietly.

"That was just… a dry entry," Harry hedged. "Combined with… with the hymen breaking."

"Putting _ that _ horror to the side for now, I'm sorry to tell you, but you were _ torn _ out here, and by the amount of blood on your clothes I am assuming there is at _least_ one serious fissure inside as well."

His hand rested on the side of Harry's chest, near his raised arm, his voice calm and serious. "Harry… I told you I regularly represent our citizens in my capacity as Head of International Magical Cooperation. You've displayed the behaviors of a victim, and the physical evidence on your body tonight just confirms it. You may not have been raped by the letter of the law — you gave and intentionally never revoked verbal consent — but you absolutely have been abused. It is _ abundantly _ clear."

"In — in any case," Harry stuttered, unable to fathom it, and feeling an odd, dizzying sensation like he was falling into his own head just from Tom's words, "I'm not afraid of _you._ You can apply the ointment."

"Do you need to watch to feel more comfortable?"

"That would probably just make me horny."

"_Harry_."

"_Tom_." Harry mocked back. "I told you I'm fine with you putting your fingers up my arse. Stop attempting to shrink my head before you actually _ do _ convince me to have a complex."

Tom sighed. "I'm terrified," he admitted, reaching his fingers between Harry's buttocks again. "I'm no good at this stuff. What if I let it go like you say and you really do need help?"

"I see a mind Healer every month, the entire Office does," Harry said, wincing a bit as Tom's finger brushed up against something that hurt more than the numbing spell could cover. "There's the fissure, I think."

"I feel it," Tom mumbled, mind on his task. "It's shrinking already."

"Thank you for doing all this for me," Harry whispered after a few repetitions of Tom applying ointment and checking the progress of the healing wound.

"I would do it a thousand times," Tom replied in a voice that said it was as confusing and new a sensation for him as it was for Harry to be the recipient.

"Do you think I'll be able to stand up properly?"

"Yes, but this late you'd be best walking yourself straight to bed."

Harry hesitated. "Will you stay?"

"You have told _me_ _'no'_ a thousand times —"

"It was just the once! Yesterday!"

"— _ and _ I don't think you should make any hasty decisions while your emotions are running high — or low, as it were."

"I didn't say 'no' today," Harry disagreed, body deflating further onto the floor in disappointment. If Tom left, he'd be alone with all the horrible things Draco had said and done to him that evening. If Tom left… he'd have absolutely no one. "_You're _ the one who broke up with me," he added, despairing. "I wasn't ready to lose you yet. Not by a long shot."

Tom's fingers left his arse, which no longer sent stinging shocks of pain through the numbing charm. One Cleaning Charm later, and Tom turned Harry with gentle, dry hands to lay back and face him. "Do you understand why I did it?"

"Yes," Harry said, unable to meet Tom's warm gaze. "I am really sorry… it's been hurting me too, you know."

"I know," Tom said, leaning down to press their cheeks together.

"Will you stay?" Harry murmured, turning his face so he could feel the corner of his mouth move against Tom's skin. "I don't want to be alone. I'm not ready for you to leave again."

Tom let out a long breath, the warmth of it tickling over Harry's ear and neck. "Alright," he agreed, that single word somehow able to convey just how bad of an idea he thought it to be. "Let's get you to bed, then."

"How healed is it? Do you think I can…"

"_Finite_,” Tom cast at Harry's lower half, and a full, but much less potent ache than before bloomed into life within his arse with the removal of his Numbing Charm.

"Yeah, I can deal with that," Harry said, voice breathy with relief that it wasn’t as bad as before. He was still careful as he pulled his feet in and shifted his weight into his shins, bypassing sitting entirely. He took Tom's offered hand and relied on it heavily to stand, taking all possible strain off his pelvic floor.

When he was up, Tom grabbed him in a surprise hug.

"I know I’ve been angry," Tom admitted into the nape of his neck, "but I truly am sorry that this happened to you. Mostly… absolutely bloody furious, but definitely sorry for you, too."

Harry held on extra tight. He hadn't thought he'd get this chance again. He'd thought he'd never be able to smell Tom's skin from this close… the unique smell of his hair, still present underneath the products he used… the intense warmth of his body invading Harry's at such close range.

"Did you agree to stay yet?" Harry asked, voice warbling with a fresh wave of tears. If Tom said no, Harry might just hang onto him, never letting the embrace end, so he'd be forced to keep Harry with him anyway.

Tom let out another sigh. Harry noted with a welcome wave of humor that the man was quite gustier than usual, and smiled into his cheek helplessly at the odd thought.

"I already did," Tom said patiently. "Don't you remember?"

"You said 'alright let's get you to bed," Harry countered, then shook his head knowing he had little room to judge. "I may not be thinking straight. I’ve been feeling a bit dizzy. When he said… all the things he said, it was like I couldn't even think. I just stood there, like I've never been attended a Hostage Negotiation lecture in my life, letting him — listening to him."

"You were shocked," Tom said, shrugging Harry's concern away. He pulled back enough to look down into Harry's eyes. "It's reasonable." He leant forward and pressed another one of those beguiling forehead kisses to Harry's fringe. "Come on, let's get you out of those clothes and into the shower."

Harry didn't think he'd frozen just because he was shocked. He'd been '_shocked_' over a hundred times over the past five years (plus his childhood fighting the Pureblood Uprising) and he'd never gone blank like that before. But he kept these thoughts rolling over in his head instead of voicing them out loud, and led Tom up the creaky stairs with accompanying torn wallpaper to the master bedroom and the adjoining bath.

"What do you think of my place?" Harry asked dryly, spelling the shower on.

"It's…" Tom trailed off, making Harry laugh heartily.

"You should have seen it when I inherited it," he commented, fighting with the shower knobs to get the right temperature. "At least it's stopped trying to kill me. The damn attitude on this thing…"

Tom shot a spell over Harry's shoulder at the showerhead itself, and the water temperature instantly smoothed out. "Older houses can be temperamental," he said solicitously.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, snorting lightly, “especially if they were owned by hateful purebloods and you don’t meet their ancestral magic’s blood standard.”

“You could burn it to the ground,” Tom suggested idly, before heading for the door to Harry’s bedroom. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

“Feel free to snoop,” Harry threw over his shoulder, unclasping his robes. “If you find something weird, then it belongs to someone else.”

“I bet,” Tom drawled, no trace of belief in his tone.

Harry snickered as he tossed his robes to the corner, then froze. He’d seen downstairs that Tom’s description of a ‘puddle’ had been an exaggeration, but seeing the amount of blood darkening the back of his crumpled uniform put the searing pain he’d felt at Draco’s dry, sudden entry and afterwards into keen perspective.

Why did he do that?

Another wave of dizziness had him swaying, and he raised a hand to his forehead, unable to stop thinking in that vein once he'd started. He couldn't — _couldnt_ imagine Draco had hurt him on purpose. But if that was so, why didn't he use lube like Harry had insisted? He'd said...

Harry's hand fell to his side, his ears feeling strangely empty of sound, even with the shower right next to him. Draco's said... he was using Harry's influence? The job working for Tom... Harry had written a heartfelt recommendation for him. He'd defended him to the press, even. Harry didn't even defend _Hermione_ to the press, and he actually loved her.

As he stood there, staring at the far wall, it became harder and harder to remember the horrid things Draco had said, to feel the reality of them. Had Draco truly said that at no point in their relationship he’d been _ ‘at all’ _ gay? Was that why his kiss had always felt like a fight? They'd had sex so many times. Had every time Draco been disgusted by it?

The shower faded out of hearing entirely.

"Harry?" Tom called through the door. Then, a hand guided Harry's face to look elsewhere — to look into dark red eyes frowning back into his. "You've been in here a while. You haven't gotten in yet?"

Harry blinked, then frowned, realizing that he _ had _ spent a good amount of time there, thinking of answerless questions about Draco interspersed with long stretches where he’d felt strangely… empty. "What's wrong with me?"

Tom cradled his jaw within the fingertips of both hands and Harry closed his eyes, enjoying the return of the sweet gesture he'd thought lost, before forcing them back open, not wanting to miss looking at Tom's gorgeous face up close. "Could be shock?" Tom guessed, lip curling with what looked like disgust. "I have never regretted my disdain for healing studies more than right now. I can say 'You are in shock,' in thirteen different languages, but can I tell if you actually_ are_?" He finished his rant with a little growl.

"I don't feel cold," Harry said, assessing himself. "Hot, either, just normal. I don't think it's shock. Could the fissure… could there be infection in my blood?"

Tom's hands curled against his cheeks, checking the temperature with the backs of his fingers before bending his head to press their foreheads together. "It’s soon, for that, right? And no fever," he said in a low tone that indicated he was speaking more to himself than Harry, and then after a moment, pulled back. Harry noted the calculating look on his face.

"What?" he asked.

"Let's get you washed up,” Tom said instead of saying what was on his mind. “I’ll stay with you and keep your mind occupied.”

Harry felt his face heat up. “Um, Tom, I’m really, _ really _ glad you’re here, but I don’t think I’m feeling up to —”

“_No_,” Tom cut in quickly, before looking vaguely embarrassed at his outburst and clearing his throat. “No, that is not what I meant. I will be out _ here _ while you are in there, talking to you to keep you from…”

“Getting lost,” Harry finished for him quietly.

“Is that what it felt like?” Tom asked, voice light as he moved his hands down from Harry’s jaw to his shirt buttons, helping him get started.

“It doesn’t feel like anything,” Harry said. “I didn’t even notice time had passed, really, until you asked me about it. You looked like you had an idea about what it could be, earlier.”

Tom pressed his lips together, grim. “It’s probably just shock,” he said after a moment. “Do you need help with your trousers too?”

Harry winced, and quickly moved to unbuckle them before Tom could get there. “No,” he said. “They’re pretty disgusting right now. I don’t want you to have to touch them.”

“I’m pretty sure I already did, gladly, downstairs,” Tom reminded.

Harry closed his eyes tight, the humiliation of Tom having seen his potion-altered body flooding him afresh. “You’re fine, Harry,” Tom told him. Harry looked up, and Tom was looking back, face firm and serious. “You’re _ fine_.”

“If you say so,” Harry replied, shucking his pants and trousers and then hurrying into the shower, not wanting Tom to see the full affect of his red-streaked bum and legs for _ any _ length of time. Once he was inside, he sheepishly removed his glasses and asked, “Um… would you mind?” while holding them out for Tom to take.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Tom asked as Harry slipped under the spray.

“No,” Harry called back, reaching for his shampoo.

“I’ll make something.”

“You cook?”

“I was raised by Muggles, Harry, of course I can cook.”

“You _ were_?” Harry asked, pausing long enough in his scrubbing that a drip of shampoo fell down into his eye. Cursing, he dunked his head under the spray, squinting his eyes into the water to wash the soap out.

“I know you scoured my file as soon as you were given access, Harry.”

“No, I didn’t,” Harry said, somewhat offended. “It wouldn’t be right. I _ have _ it, sure, but by the time it was in my hands I already knew you weren’t my suspect. I read what was pertinent to the case _ only _ and then put it away.”

“You…” Tom said, then went quiet.

“Tom?”

“So you don’t know anything about me.”

“Only your education to see if you qualified to partner on the case.” Then Harry admitted, “And... I know the year and circumstances of your birth. it was flagged on the first page as an opportunity for a security risk, but it wasn’t a full case report — just a note that noted possible retribution from the Gaunt family — but they’re all dead or in Azkaban now, I checked. It was brief — didn’t mention anyone else. Your age and method of staying young were flagged by the Department of Mysteries as being Ministry approved. That was enough.” 

“I thought you’d read my file and chose Draco over me since he’s a pureblood and I am not.”

“That is… sorry, Tom, but that’s... ridiculous. You _ do _ know I am Harry Potter, right? Undesirable Number One of the Pureblood Uprising? Genetics don’t impress me.”

“It’s rare to meet a wizard who knows the word ‘genetics,’ Tom commented next.

Harry popped his head out of the curtain, grinning. “You do, too?”

“My father owned significant stock in a medical firm,” Tom said, eyebrow raising at Harry’s sudsy appearance.

“Hermione taught me out of her science books, that last year of the war,” Harry admitted. “We used Punnett squares to come up with large families of House Elves with crazy hair colors and nose lengths and feet sizes and she animated our doodles of them.”

Tom’s intrigued frown morphed into a rather fond looking smile during Harry’s reminiscing.

“Well,” Harry said, looking away when the expression tugged at his torn heart. “I’ll finish up now.” He retreated back into the shower quickly.

“If you didn’t study my file then you don’t know I was Head Boy.”

“Congratulations,” Harry said sincerely. “I mean… it was like, what, a hundred years ago? But still, very good job.”

Riddle didn’t respond for a moment, just long enough for Harry to begin to sweat, jeopardizing his efforts to get clean. “Er — _ you _ lost this time?” he called, trying to inject a light friendliness into his voice but only succeeding in sounding like he was nervously overcompensating.

“You’re fine, Harry,” Tom said, and just like earlier, the calm assurance made him feel both confused and relieved at the same time.

“Is it a sore spot?” he asked curiously. “Your age?”

“Rather, your opinion on it,” came Tom’s reply. There was a forced note of nonchalance in his voice, and Harry wondered if he would have noticed how hard Tom worked to make it sound that way three weeks ago.

_ ‘Probably not,’ _ he thought practically. _ ‘Just _ one _ week ago his arrogance and careless posturing infuriated me. Then again — he’s not been posturing with the same _ commitment _ level, recently.’ _

“Tom, what bread crumbs did you want me to follow?” Harry asked, suddenly confused by the aggressive Tom who’d openly admitted playing games with him and this one who told the truth even when it seemed like he didn’t want to. He paused in his washing, looking down at the red-tinged washcloth in his hands, the hard work and hard _times_ of the day catching up to him suddenly. “I’ve thought about it, and the only thing I could think of was ‘Thursday at seven.’ Did… did you know this would happen?”

“_No_,” Tom replied passionately, his shoe clipping on the bathroom tiles as he stepped closer to the curtain separating them. “I knew he wasn’t devoted to you and I knew he was planning on seeing Astoria Greengrass tonight. I didn’t know about… about his _ tastes_. I thought he was just a cad. A _ normal _ kind of creep… and I thought I was being... smart. I thought I was so cunning by leading you to his lies but not telling you straight out. I swear, Harry, if I thought for one minute he might do this… I’d rather have kidnapped you and had you hate me forever than suffer this.”

“It’s not that bad,” Harry said, resuming his efforts to scrub the dried blood out of his leg hair. “I agreed to everything.”

“Will you tell me about what precipitated the violence of tonight, specifically?” Tom asked then, his voice highly skeptical. “Because all _ I _ know is that I came to your house due to _ your _pained Patronus call, to find you bleeding and crying on the floor, unable to walk from the pain and your beautiful body _ mutilated _ — _ all _ due to _ his _ influence, physical or otherwise. Which part did I see out of context, _ Harry_?”

Harry’s mouth worked. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the ripping grow in intensity from the power of Tom's words. The shower tiles zoomed in and out —

"Harry?"

He blinked water out of his eyes, spluttering and sneezing the portion he'd apparently inhaled up his nose out. "I'm — okay," he coughed.

"You got lost again."

Harry, seeing no other choice, blew his waterlogged nose hard into his hand and then washed the results off in the spray before replying to Tom's non-question. "Yeah."

"I see," Tom's voice was tense, even disgusted.

"Sorry, I know… blowing my nose is gross, I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologise so profusely. Do you know who taught me how to cook?"

Harry, thrown by the change of topic, paused, before slowly saying, "No?"

"It was my dad."

"Is he a nice guy? Or more like…"

"He's probably not your definition of nice," Tom admitted, voice muffled through the curtain. Harry squeezed his rag out and shut the water off.

"Towel?" Harry asked, peeking out the curtain again to see one already held up near his face, along with his glasses. "Hey, thanks!" he said, taking the towel and rubbing it over his face and hair. He slipped on his glasses and hesitated for a moment before wrapping the towel around his hips and exiting the shower without toweling off anywhere else. "Why did you say that... that he wasn't _ my _ definition? And are you trying to distract me from getting lost again?"

"Yes, obviously," Tom said, his eyes not missing an inch of Harry's shower-fresh skin as he avoided answering the question about his father. "Are _ you _ not drying off your skin on purpose to taunt me?"

Harry looked down at the water dripping down his chest, then back at Tom, caught. "Well, I didn't quite think of it as _ taunting_. More like…" Harry clenched his hands on the rolled waist of his towel, struggling to put words to the black feeling he'd had. "I felt ugly and disgusting and I wanted proof that I wasn't. I wanted to prove to _ you _ that I wasn't. Because you saw… because you saw."

Tom's hands came up again, tilting Harry's face towards his own. Harry expected some suave, soothing remark, based on their recent history. What he did not expect was Tom's mouth taking his in an incredibly gentle caress, his lips remaining soft and full against Harry's. Tom's lower lip pouted out to massage against his own for a long moment until he broke the unexpectedly heartbreaking kiss in order to place another one on the younger man's forehead.

"You are the most handsome man I have ever met," Tom murmured against his wet hair, which _ had _ to be a lie, with his rebellious hair and smattering of scars, but Tom was already talking again so Harry couldn't call him out on it. "You are learned in areas that I am not, considerate in ways that I am not... but just as hard-working as me. You are powerful in magic _ and _ in body, and I have _ never _ felt so helpless as I have in the past few days when I _ knew _ I didn't have you."

"You said... you couldn't continue with me unless I chose you. I'm not ready to be making commitments like that right now," Harry said, grabbing Tom's arms tight in case his words might encourage him to leave.

"I said that upon a contingent set of circumstances which are no longer applicable."

Harry huffed. "I understand what you just said, but not what you mean."

"I know," Tom said. "For now, understand that I have no intention of leaving your side, and I am open to giving and receiving private shows of affection."

"Okay," Harry replied in a small voice.

"I still love you," Tom reminded. "That hasn't changed just because someone else has hurt you."

"Well, I — er," Harry stammered, struggling to say anything in response. He knew — _ knew _ he was ' _ in _ love' with Tom already. Why couldn't he bring his mouth to _ say _ it?

"Go get dressed," Tom ordered. "I'll find my way to the kitchen. It's back downstairs?"

"It's in the basement, actually," Harry said, wrinkling his nose a little at the thought of Tom having to traipse down three flights of stairs by himself.

"I'll find it. Do you have a window you prefer to leave open for owls? The newspapers usually come in shortly after midnight."

"I'll unlock it for you," Harry offered, fishing out his rarely-worn pajamas out of the bottom of his smalls drawer. "They'll come in on the first floor, in the slot through the front door."

"I'll clean up the room I found you in while on my way down," Tom offered.

Harry cringed. "You don't have to do that —"

"Too late, I've already said I'm doing it," Tom replied mildly. Then he frowned at Harry. "Are you done? Just like that?"

Harry looked down at himself, fully clothed as far as he could tell and feeling self-conscious. "What, should I put on shoes or something?" he asked, bewildered.

Tom broke out into laughter. "Your shower was so short too — you really don't use cosmetic potions or anything?"

Harry's eyebrows flew up. "That's a hard no," he said flatly. "Do _ you_?"

Tom pointed a finger up at his own face, then his hair. "This takes _ effort_," he said, chuckling. "I can't believe you look so good with so little effort. It's _ nonsensical_."

"Erm… thanks?" Harry said, flattered. "I always have been told I look untidy. Scruffy."

"As a kid maybe," Tom dismissed. "Nowadays…" His eyes skimmed Harry over, from the dark whorls of hair topping his toes, up the modest pajamas which draped themselves over his warrior’s body, skating over his towel-ruffled hair, and then resting longest on the various features of his face.

"Okay, okay," Harry said, blushing hotly. He pushed past Tom, hurrying out of the room. "I get it, I do."

But Tom snatched Harry's elbow, using his momentum to swing him back around to crash onto his chest, where he was besieged with another heart-stopping kiss, all warmth and lightly chapped pink skin yielding to Harry's own and _ there _— just the softened tip of Tom's tongue, stroking against the tip of his hypnotically with every opening-movement of their mouths.

This time when it ended, Harry let his head fall to Tom's shoulder, struggling to get a handle on the intensity of the tearing pain the molten sweetness of the kiss had left behind.

"_Do _ you get it?" Tom asked while turning his own head to lay against Harry's. Stuck between shoulder and the full resting weight of Tom's head on his own, he felt a little compressed, but it added an extra dimension of being _ held _ to the embrace and he nuzzled his own face deeper into Tom's neck to get even more of it. Who had ever held him like this, pressing so much of their body against Harry’s… as if it was a _ joy _ to do so?

"Maybe you do," Tom conceded then, raising a hand from Harry's hip to cradle the back of his head, slipping through the strands of his damp hair. "Somewhere deep in here."

"Probably not too deep," Harry mumbled into Tom's neck. By that late hour, his smooth skin had made way for stubble, and Harry moved his lips back and forth over the scratchy texture.

"What were you going to call me, earlier today?" Tom asked suddenly, the hand holding Harry's head still carding through his hair in a calming, repetitive motion. "It's been driving me spare all day."

Harry squeezed his eyes further shut, digging his head into the fabric of Tom's collar. 

He thought of how to tell him, _ whether _ to tell him, or if he should just lay out the truth as it currently was: that he didn't feel like it was the right time to be making that sort of emotional connection, that he was absorbing this kind of affection for the first time in his life but wasn't ready for more _ commitment _ — but instead of saying any of that, he found himself crying again because the strongest of all the thoughts rattling around was _ 'You were right. You were always the better option and I didn't know how to trust you and even now, I still feel like I can't choose you.' _

"Harry," Tom murmured, hand tightening on his hair until the edge of pain pulled him back to the present. "Don't get lost again."

Harry pulled his head back to look at Tom, realizing he _ had _ zoned out again. "How long was I gone?"

"I realized a few seconds after your breathing became quiet."

"So not that long, that time," Harry sighed, pulling away and wiping his eyes. "Let's get the mail slot open before I'm gone for good."

"That won't happen,” Tom said, rather negligently, in Harry’s opinion, considering the frequency of his present difficulties.

“Why aren’t I more concerned about this?” Harry grumbled, irritated with both Tom _ and _ himself, as he led the charge down the stairs.

“The nature of the beast,” Tom muttered nonsensically. “Don’t think too hard about it. We need to deal with the sting tomorrow first and foremost, then we can deal with this.”

“After tomorrow — no matter how the sting goes — I better get answers,” Harry told him, glaring a bit.

But Tom just smiled, and kissed him on the forehead again. “Very ferocious,” he complimented, smile hooking to the side in clear physical admiration. “The stairs to the basement are those?”

Harry glanced towards where he was pointing, grimacing slightly at the ominous, dark rectangle in the floor at the far end of the entry hall. Having Tom in his home was outright _ embarrassing_. “Yeah… that’s it.”

They parted without saying anything else, Harry to the mail flap and Tom to the sitting room, the older man Vanishing the trail of blood in the hall and the larger smear in the sitting room as he went. Harry hurried through the chain of Unlocking Spells and passwords his door required and when the flap gave a low _ pop _ and shuddered as the protections disconnected, he quickly turned to join Tom downstairs.

— In order to see him already plating up food.

“What…?” Harry asked, bewildered. It appeared to be a simple one-cauldron stew, but still, the man had only been in the kitchen for perhaps ten seconds!

"One day I'll cook something more impressive than a Quik-Stew for you," Tom said, placing Harry's wide, shallow bowls down at the small kitchen table. "Here's better than the dining room upstairs, right?"

"Yeah, I never eat up there," Harry said, distracted. "I thought you said you learned how to cook the Muggle way."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "I did. In my teens. I've learned a few tricks since then."

"I've heard of Quik-Stews," Harry said, sitting his rear down carefully at the place Tom left for him and peering at the dark liquid, thickly supplied with chunks of brown meat, colorful veg, and pale potatoes. Tom didn’t pull the chair out for him or stand on ceremony before taking his own seat, and Harry appreciated being treated as an equal, even after what had happened to him. 

"I've never learned how to make one though,” he continued, smiling his gratitude at Tom. “I used to have a house elf who cooked for me… he passed a few years ago, though."

"The one in the memorial… Dobby?"

Harry smiled, pleased to hear his old friend's name pass through Tom's lips, though he couldn't say where the feeling came from. "No… my personal elf, Kreacher, who I inherited along with this house. He was a cantankerous old fart — but fiercely loyal once I'd proved that I would value what he valued. He jumped in front of a curse for me while I was on a mission."

"You loved him."

Harry figured the conversation wasn't going to end soon and went ahead and spooned up his first bite of stew before responding. "This is really good. And yeah, I did. I didn't realize I did until after he was gone… and then what do you do, you know? He was an angry little fellow, deeply unhappy, but he was always there for me after we came to our understanding."

"Hmm. I don't think I've ever loved another person except for my father," Tom admitted, "and now you, of course."

"Sounds lonely."

Tom shook his head slowly. "It's… cautious," he disagreed thoughtfully. "Who knows — perhaps I'll only realize I have more loved ones after I've lost them too."

"What makes your dad different?" Harry asked, swirling his spoon around his bowl before fishing out the largest chunk of what he'd come to realize had been the beef from his cold cupboard. It was amazing how quickly Tom had assembled everything.

"Made," Tom revealed, regret thinning his voice.

"I'm sorry," Harry said softly.

"I'll get used to it eventually," Tom deflected, lifting one shoulder in an uncharacteristically casual shrug. "My grandparents didn't want him to raise me, but he went and found me anyway. It was only been since I became an adult that I realized just what it must have taken him to do that."

"Because of what your mother did."

Tom's face twitched. "I thank her for the genes she passed down to me, but she was not my mother," he said, voice stiff.

"Sorry," Harry said, hiding his face in his soup.

"You're fine. It's always going to be a complicated subject for me, but I don't become offended over it any longer. In anycase, the difficulty wasn’t just in what she did to him… it was how he was raised. My grandparents never fully accepted me, even as I was there helping my dad care for them in hospice. They raised him to loathe… _ everyone. _ Everyone but the rich and beautiful. In my father’s eyes, the ugly, poor, _ inbred _woman who had forced him to love her against his will was the lowest of the low… and so I should have been, as well.

“When the orphanage reached out to him, he defied his parents and a lifetime of their conditioning to come get me. Not _ right _ away, but I was still young enough that I don't remember any of my time there. My grandparents let us stay in the Manor, but they never accepted his choice — or me. My father had a long road to recovery after the assault he’d suffered, and he chose to walk it along with his son, born of his rape. He grew up right alongside me.”

“You sound like you loved him very much,” Harry said, smiling as he rested his cheek on his fist.

“He taught me so much,” Tom said, picking up his empty bowl, then Harry’s and walking them over to the sink. “Including the value of only saying ‘I love you’ when you _ want _to… and then saying it often, so they never forget they were chosen on purpose.”

Harry’s mouth slid open in wonder. “That’s why you say it so much.” Then he blushed. “Not _ too _ much… just… often, like you said.”

Tom stood by his chair, holding out his hand for Harry to take, then helped the younger man to rise in a way that reduced the strain on his pelvis. “Yes.”

Harry struggled for what to say to that. For some reason, all that came to mind was ‘sorry,’ but he didn’t necessarily know what for. Sorry that he loved Harry in what was apparently a very deep and profound way? Sorry he couldn’t say the same about Tom? Sorry he _ wanted _ to, and knew it was his own damn fault he was being held back? (Or, was it Draco's...?)

“_Tempus_,” Tom cast, and Harry mentally shook himself, realizing that he’d begun fading as his thoughts had twisted. “My delivery is late… that almost never happens. Do you mind if we stay up just long enough to receive it? There’s usually a reason for the delay.”

“Will you have to go in, if there is?” Harry asked curiously, He tugged the hand still holding his own back towards the sitting room. There had been a very good reason he’d gone there, instead of anywhere else in the house when he was hurt — it was the most comfortable room and Harry’s favorite.

“I might,” Tom said, sounding unhappy about it as he let himself be led to the couch. Once Harry sat, Tom lowered himself gracefully down as well — on the same cushion as Harry.

“If I get called in, I’d like for you to come with me,” he told Harry seriously, folding his arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulling him close. “Until your shock — or concussion — is dealt with you should remain around myself or Madam Granger.”

“Concussion,” Harry repeated, incredulous. “I didn’t hit my head. He just —”

“What’s your favorite color?” Tom blurted.

“Red,” Harry answered immediately, confused.

“Gryffindor red?”

“Dark red,” Harry said, carefully looking anywhere but at Tom’s eyes. “I’m not sure asking me kindergarten questions will be enough to distract me. If I’m compromised, somehow, the case is compromised, too.”

“We will take care of it,” Tom promised, turning his body so he could more comfortably face Harry. He reached out and grabbed Harry’s face, his face set as his fingers pressed in, hard, the pain of it keeping Harry’s head clear. “You just have to get through tomorrow. You’ve worked so hard to catch this _ con _ and I’m going to help you get it done in one piece, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry said, though he truly didn’t believe it was going to be that easy, with how things were going so far. Maybe Tom read the doubt on his face because in the next moment Tom was pushing him down, climbing over him, and giving him only one very warm, solid thing and its lips to worry about for the next few minutes.

“I can’t...” Harry whispered into his mouth, hands finally free to spear through Tom’s dark brown waves as much as they wanted and one calf curling around the other man’s greedily.

“We won’t,” Tom assured, strong finger pads raking down the muscles of Harry’s back, causing him to arch up into his weight with a groan. “Just kissing.”

“Mmkay,” Harry hummed, his distraction finally complete as he gave himself over into Tom’s pressing hands, his thighs pushing Harry down flat into the cushions beneath him, and the way his mouth encouraged Harry to surrender… to let Tom manipulate him any way he damn well wished. It felt so good to make out like a teenager with someone who knew what they were doing — with someone who made Harry feel as good as Tom was.

Beneath the soft sucking sounds and the creak of the couch’s frame as they shifted over and under each other, a long series of interruptions sounded: the arrhythmic thump and rasp of paper sliding across paper.

“Delivery,” Harry murmured.

“Fuck it,” Tom declared, one hand stroking Harry’s face sweetly while the other was wrapped possessively around his waist, holding painfully tight.

“You know it’s an emergency printing,” Harry groaned out, turning his head out of the kiss. He whined as Tom took the opportunity to attack his neck, instead. “They’re so late…”

“Very inconsiderate of them,” Tom growled, a note of conversational agreement in his voice. The hand on Harry’s face moved to grip the sides of Harry’s chin and force his head around to receive another, harder kiss to his mouth before Tom pushed himself up. “Hold that thought,” he commanded.

“Holding,” Harry said cheekily, spreading his hands out wide and then fisting them into his chest.

“Good boy,” Tom purred. He spun on his heel and strode for the door, and Harry heard him cast a Levitation Charm. “I’ll spread them on the dining room table so I can see what the delayed printing was for,” he called, passing by the sitting room door.

“Sure,” Harry agreed, sitting back up and trying not to pout. 

A strong knock sounded on the door a few silent seconds later, and Harry stood all the way up, wincing at the continually fading ache in his backside, and headed to answer it.

“Must be a stack that didn’t fit through the slot,” Harry called back to Tom. “I’ll bring it back to you.”

“Harry! _ Wait!_” Tom called, but the door was already open, revealing an unusually distressed Kingsley.

“Kings,” Harry greeted in surprise, looking behind the man and seeing several men he knew all belonged to Madame Tutala — Hit Wizards. He couldn’t help but frown — as his current Secret Keeper, Kingsley had promised to never reveal the location of his house to anyone new unless Harry had approved it first.

Tom’s pounding footsteps approached from behind as Harry looked back at the Minister in alarm. “Has there been a problem with the investigation?” he asked urgently. “News of the search hasn’t supposed to get out yet. What’s happened?”

“Ah, they’re here for you, Harry,” Kingsley replied, the words deep with regret.

“What?” Harry looked at the vaguely familiar faces and saw nothing but grim resignation there — no, the little one looked as distressed as Kingsley; guilty. “For me?”

Oddly enough, the only thing he could think was _ ‘But it’s not my birthday.’ _

“Harry,” Tom urged behind him. He turned, and in Tom’s hands were several newspapers. He took the one that was offered, The Daily Prophet, and read:

> “**MINISTRY COUP SHOCKER!**
> 
> "War Hero Harry Potter revealed at heart of Ministry-wide takeover attempt!”

“_What_?” Harry breathed, horrified. To the side, in the article labeled 1b, the title read: 

> “**MINISTER EMBROILED IN HIRING SCANDAL!**
> 
> “Ministry rocked by second scandal in same day: Minister Kingsley embroiled with accusations of a _ pureblood cull_!”

Harry looked up at Kingsley’s grave face in shock, then back down at the article declaring him the culprit behind the listening devices.

_‘Pureblood Uprising survivor Draco Malfoy exposes long-time partner Harry Potter at great personal risk…’_ he read, swaying. 

_‘Malfoy’s unconscionable bravery…’ _

_ ‘“Knew something was wrong for a long time,” the terrified lad admitted…’ _

_ ‘His courage can only be called an act of true heroism…’_

_ ‘“I’m so afraid for the future of our Ministry, I just want to help ,” he cried…’_

_ ‘Tears in his eyes, Malfoy finally admitted to this reporter: “He hurt me… at times...”’_

“Harry,” Tom hissed directly into his ear, bringing him back from nothingness. He still couldn’t tug his eyes away from the paper until a merciless pinch from Tom screamed through his side, out of sight of the crowd of men at his door. He flinched, pulling away from it.

“Why?” Harry asked, looking up at Tom’s face which was somehow able to convey both fury and terror at the same time. "Why did he say those things?"

“Harry, listen,” Tom said quietly. “You’re going to have to go with them. You can’t run.”

“Of course I won’t run,” Harry scoffed, swiping at his tickling cheeks, not entirely shocked to feel them wet with _even more_ _fucking tears_. “I’m innocent. I don’t know how he thought I was the one planting the devices…”

Tom’s hand gripped Harry’s wrist, his fingers digging in harshly, and Harry frowned, tugging away from the pain ineffectually.

“I’m going to get help. But I need you in one piece. Excuse me gentlemen,” Tom said formally towards the door. “I will be acting as Auror Potter’s defense. Please give us a moment while I give him a few instructions.”

“Stay in sight,” one voice behind Harry allowed. "An emergency session of the Wizengamot has already been called. They will be waiting."

Harry closed his eyes briefly. A rushed Wizengamot criminal trial meant that all he had were spontaneous words to defend himself with. It didn't bode well.

“We’re here because we have to be,” the youngest wizard confessed quickly. He must have been still in training — Harry had never seen him before and he couldn’t be more than nineteen. “We don’t believe a word that slimy Death Eater says… sir.”

“He wasn’t a Death Eater,” Harry corrected automatically, dazed.

“Come,” Tom ordered, his grip on Harry’s wrists inescapable.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” he said once he’d brought them a few meters backwards into the shadows of the hall.

“It’s not your — _ wh—” _

In quick succession a Leg-Locker and Silencing Charm hit him and only then Tom’s wand came into view. “_Facmea_!” Tom whispered harshly, the tip of his wand stabbing into the flesh of Harry’s inner forearm.

A brief second of worrying about Tom casting a spell that sounded suspiciously like 'fuck me,' occurred before a pain stronger and more targeted than the Cruciatus ripped through his arm, spreading fast from the wooden point of Tom's wand up his bones... plunging onward until it had anchored itself around his heart and seized that too. If not for the Leg-Locker and the Silencing Charm he would have been a crying, screaming mess on the ground.

Then, all at once, it was over, and Harry fought not to collapse into Tom in blind relief.

“W-what the fuck have you done to me,” he demanded hoarsely, Tom having lifted the Silencing Charm and Leg-Locker immediately as the spell finished.

“If anyone talks about Malfoy, if you_ see _ him, cling to the Mark,” Tom urged him, wiping Harry's tear-streaked face with far more efficiency than gentleness. “Tell the truth when asked. Don’t hide things you’re embarrassed about, they’ll take it as an admission of guilt. Use the Mark. I’m so sorry. I _ do _ love you. Go with them.”

Then he apparated away.

“Alright, Auror,” Kingsley said behind him, voice filled with regret. “Your counsel has gone; the Wizengamot needs you to come now.”

Harry looked down at the black brand burned — _ literally burned _ — into his arm. There had been no mistaking the rush of Dark magic flooding his system as Tom had carved his _ initials _ into him: TMR, with a rounded rectangle framing the letters. It was so painfully obvious that it was just like the kind of scar given to cattle, owned and raised for slaughter. Tom would be in just as much trouble as Harry currently was if anyone found out about it.

Agonizingly heartsick for the second time that day, he tugged his pajama sleeve back down over the evidence and then turned.

“Yeah,” he said. A twinge of pain seared through his arm, and his breath caught. “I’ll go with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Surprise?


	13. Chapter 13

# Chapter Thirteen

* * *

* * *

"We need your wand, Auror Potter.”

Harry had known that, which was why he was currently staring at it, (held non-threateningly by the tip, instead of the handle.) He looked up, and the man who'd spoke gave him an understanding, but borderline impatient smile. Harry grit his teeth and handed it over. These men knew just how fundamental a part of Harry it was, and wouldn't give him any leeway just because he felt the exact same way as every other person they've ever captured.

"Just four Hit Wizards to capture me _ and _ guard the Minister? I'm a little insulted," Harry commented, forcing a light tone, "and concerned."

"Madame Tutala thought it best if you weren't _ escorted _ by members of the team you're friendly with," a wizard who'd remained in an alert, ready stance the entire time declared. Harry handed over his wand to that man, liking his cautious personality, and held out his arm for Side-Along Apparation before responding.

"In the future, argue that familiar faces are less likely to be lethally hexed in a true capture scenario," he advised. "A desperate wizard is going to act desperately, but if you have the option of a two second hesitation and potentially weaker curses over nothing? Take the hesitation."

“That’s good advice… sir,” the trainee said supportively as the skeptical one took a firm hold on his arm.

“_Try _ to remember protocol, Smith,” the man said, and then Harry was gone, squeezing through space and matter until they landed directly within the blank grey box that was the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s receiving room. “Come with me, Auror Potter.”

The Minister kept pace with Harry and his four-person escort through the familiar halls of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, into the elevator, out and through the Department of Mysteries to the half-hidden staircase down to the lowest level of the Ministry and Courtroom Ten. Harry wasn’t necessarily _surprised_ to be led there, given the highly suspect nature of his arrest, but the descent still had his gut clenching in trepidation — as he knew had been intended.

Half of the rounded wall of spectator seats were empty, which was expected at such a spontaneous, mid-night trial. What wasn’t expected was how packed full the other the other half was. His eyes passed by familiar faces in shock, one after another. In the center of all of them sat Draco, his body posture as high and arrogant as it could be while seated...

“Criminal trial of the thirtieth of January,” Kingsley’s deep voice boomed through the room.

Harry jerked, rocking back in his chair — he was _sitting_, and everyone had taken their places. Disoriented, he tried to move his arms, only to find that heavy chains blocked his free movement. _Oh_, he was in _the_ chair, with the magical shackles engaged. His left forearm knocked against the heavy stone armrest and a flash of pain went through him, clearing his mind fully for the first time since he’d laid eyes on Draco.

Damn, it wasn't good if he couldn't even stay conscious through his own defense.

“— into the accusation of placing two-hundred-and-seven unauthorized Listening Charms under false pretenses and the framing of an innocent wizard for such crime along with the offenses of intent to commit governmental sabotage and intent to stage a coup against the Ministry’s current governing body by Harry James Potter, residence redacted, from Draco Lucius Malfoy. 

“Interrogators: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic; Deirdre Tutala, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office. Court Scribe, Heather Brown. Witness against the accused, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Witness for the defence…”

Harry felt his — to use Tom’s verbiage — _ mutilated _ arm ache still from that sudden bump against the stone, heart sinking. “It seems I’m on my own, sir,” he responded flatly, fighting back the cruel thought that with Tom's disappearance he'd been betrayed twice in one day.

Behind him, titters arose, and Harry’s neck prickled at the thought of so many enemies just out of sight, rubbing salt in his wounds.

(Two wounds, two betrayals, that horrible voice reminded again.)

Upon hearing he was alone, there was some shifting among the silent members of the Wizengamot, many of whom Harry recognized from Draco’s party just the week before. Amongst their number he caught sight of Arthur Weasley, who gave him a tight smile as their eyes met, but gave the overall impression that he was not confident about the scene before him. 

His practiced eyes scanned over the crowd of aged witches and wizards and saw that the percentage that were either friend or fan was far lower than the amount he’d like — all due to the fifteen or so empty seats, he supposed, sourly. At least Heather Brown was on his side; he could tell by the scathing looks she sent over his shoulder to where his recently-made-ex was sitting.

Once the crest of noise abated, Kingsley set the script in his hands to the side and picked up another parchment from the table in front of him.

“The first of the charges leveled against Auror Harry Potter from citizen Draco Malfoy is the placement of two-hundred-and-seven unauthorized Listening Charms. A copy of the witness’s deposition has been distributed accordingly, however the witness has requested ahead of time to present his statements in person. Draco Malfoy, please stand.”

“Also, Mr. Malfoy,” Robards spoke up, “if you would please remove the Obscuring Charm you have on your facial features?”

Harry turned in time to see Draco’s wand swish over his face, and just like that, the confusing arrangement of facial features he’d blamed his own guiltfor cleared. Draco flashed one glittering look down at him — checking his reaction to the news — and Harry saw for the first time the lack of regard those chill grey eyes held for him. Even with the way Draco's eyebrows were held in a tense caricature of sorrow, that awful emptiness stood out. 

Shaken by the idea that Draco had been Obscuring his facial features from Harry for weeks, or_ more_, Harry was struck with dizziness, and instinctively pressed his raw brand against the chair to recover.

“My apologies, Auror Robards,” Draco said, his voice conveying apology and embarrassment… _ too _ much of it to possibly genuine from the proud man. “I haven’t been sleeping well recently and I use it to cover my… dark circles.”

Draco knew three different charms to hide dark circles but preferred to use a potion from France that he’d refused to name the price for when Harry’d asked. There was no way he’d use a Charm like that on his entire face. Harry's head swam; the pain of the brand keeping him present, but the incomprehensibility of the situation he was in stuttering his ability to reason to a halt.

“Well, I think you’ll find we are far more interested in your testimony than your _ dark circles_,” Robards informed him, voice hard.

“Please proceed, Mr. Malfoy,” Madame Tutala said, her voice echoing supportively off the circular walls. Harry stopped staring at Draco, exclusively absorbing his newly communicative features like someone who had the luxury of not paying attention to his surroundings, and shifted his gaze to Tutala. _ Her _ face matched her voice perfectly. She believed Draco. She was ready to get the trial started and see justice done.

She jumped to conclusions quickly and rushed to the end result; it was a known fact about her, Harry thought dimly.

“I… I had known something was wrong for a while. Most of you should already know… I was in a relationship with Harry — with Auror Potter for the last year.”

“Was?” 

“Yes, well,” Draco forced a laugh. “I rather think with all this…”

Harry fell into himself, vision tunneling, and reasserted the pressure on the brand to recover.

“Let’s get on with the testimony, please,” the Minister said, impatience just coloring his voice.

“Yes… of course, I’m sorry.”

Draco had never said ‘I’m sorry,’ to _ Harry _ a day in his life.

“Harry — gosh, this is so hard — _ Auror Potter _ had started exhibiting some odd behaviors a few weeks ago —”

“Odd _ how_, Mr. Malfoy.” Despite Draco’s earnest performance, Kingsley’s patience was wearing rapidly. It surprised Harry… even after their efforts together in the war and all the years since they weren't close _ friends... _ but through mutual respect had always protected each other, professionally and politically. As the man dealt with aggravations day in and day out in his role as Minister, having it be Harry in a sham trial that broke his calm was frankly heartwarming.

“I believe Mr. Malfoy has shared enough about Auror Potter’s… particular aggressions in his deposition,” Madame Tutala cut in quickly. Her eyes met Draco’s as Harry watched, and her gaze was entirely sympathetic.

“And if the wizards interrogating wish to see how accurate the retelling is?” Robards challenged.

“Then those _ wizards _ may take a moment to remember that Draco Malfoy is not the one on trial. Mr. Malfoy, the Listening Charms, please.”

“Yes, Madame,” Draco agreed meekly. Harry wondered if anyone else heard the purr of satisfaction hiding in his tone.

“A few weeks ago, around the time of the start of the… of what he…”

“The _ Listening Charms _, Mr. Malfoy,” Kingsley insisted. The large crowds behind both the interrogators and Harry muttered, discontent with how the victim apparent was being treated. Harry looked to Arthur, the one face he knew he could count on for support, to see him reading the frequently-mentioned deposition, face green. Arthur wasn't a hardened man, but Harry personally knew he'd attended all seven of his children's births without fainting. Whatever was on that page was undoubtedly horrific.

What could Draco have _ possibly _ claimed he’d done?

"I was given a small, crystal statue at Christmas," Draco rushed out, and Harry heard the rustle of his robes behind him… he was fidgeting. That combined with the anxious whine of his voice… he probably looked the picture of an innocent being bullied by the man in power. "It was odd… the man who gave it to me was Arthur Peasegood, the Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, but he's never been the gift-giving sort. And he was kinder than usual."

Low murmuring started up amongst the Wizengamot. Harry could imagine that most of them would have received a crystal figurine themselves, and struggled to focus, wondering how new the fact that they were Listening devices was to them. From the appalled, worried looks they cast around at each other, it was quite new.

"It didn't sit will with me… I've learned to be suspicious, you see; being a Pureblood in today's society is a dangerous life. Especially when your own _ boyfriend… _ oh. Sorry, Minister."

Harry couldn't _ hear _ Kingsley's teeth grinding, but he could watch his jaw pulse with irritation.

"I cast spells to detect any secrets it might have and after trying a few I finally struck one that reacted with the Charm. By that time, I’d been seeing the statues _ everywhere_. Everyone I knew had gotten one, too.

“I thought it might have been Peasegood… but he’d seemed so _ off_… I wanted to find more information, so I went to the Ministry Archives —”

Robards interrupted Draco's impassioned rant just as it had started increasing in both volume and speed.

“You mean to tell me... you knew something was wrong with the statues — which you said, had been distributed so thoroughly in the Ministry — and instead of bringing the issue to your Auror boyfriend or any of the numerous senior Aurors coming in and out of your own department while escorting your boss... you decided to keep entirely silent about it and perform your own investigation?” Robards asked skeptically.

“Well,” Draco said slowly. “I was worried about the culprit being from the Auror Office, themself. It had occured to me... well, I had thought from the beginning how _odd_ it was... that Harry himself never received a statue.”

The flurry of voices that followed that remark were urgent and excited in turn. Harry fought hard to focus on the pain of his Dark tattoo and not on the idea that Draco was standing there, betraying him at that very moment. It had to be an accident, tht Draco tought this way. It had to be coincidences, laid down in his path that he misinterpreted.

It had to be, Harry insisted mentally. It had to be.

“And how did you connect Auror Harry more _ concretely _ to the statues?” Madame Tutala pressed.

“Last night, after he was… he was done with me, we fought about where he’d been before coming home so late,” Draco said, reversing their positions from the night before in a move that had Harry tilting dizzily, even with the desperate pressure on his wound.

“He grabbed his robes... and out of the pocket fell a statue — a big one. I knew instantly that it must have been the focus for all the Listening Charms… he had kept it on his person to Listen in whenever he wanted. His odd behavior… I connected it instantly.”

“I think it’s time to hear from Auror Potter with his rebuttal,” Robards said when Draco took a breath. “I don’t think we’ll be here too much longer.”

“You cannot be serious,” Madame Tutala scolded immediately afterwards. “Have you read through the deposition? How can you let this kind of violent, _ sickening _ behavior stand?”

“Madame,” Kingsley warned gently, “Mister Robards. We have done much work to restore order to our justice system. Let’s not undo it now with pithy remarks and character judgements. We do not have all the information we need, yet.”

Neither uttered apologies, yet all three looked to Harry for his first attempt at defense. Still slumped over himself, unbalanced, he opened his mouth, prepared to speak on his first meeting with Hermione, his subsequent creation of the case, and the fact that Draco was _surely_ mistaken and even... perhapshad been the (consensual!) aggressor in the situations written in his deposition, when in the back of his mind he felt a tiny, painless rip.

Pain screamed up Harry’s arm, through the bones of his shoulder and down his spine. As the blackened magic curled around his heart and _pulsed,_ he felt himself pulled upwards, his awareness compressing back together with a sensation not unlike one end of an elastic being released — or a Slinky, somehow collapsing upwards into itself.

Beside his stone chair, a tall form stood, body turned towards the Wizengamot but hand clenched tightly around Harry’s burning forearm. As the foreign power retracted back out of his body and into that grasping hand, Harry's full cognizance returned. He recognised a freshly dressed and tidy-looking Tom first, and then cottoned on to the clandestine way he’d been roused, and adjusted himself back to sitting straight as he tried to get a handle on how much time had passed while he had been lost.

“— a good thing I arrived when I did, if you had asked my client to defend himself without his defensive witness here to speak for him,” Tom was saying angrily. “He is unable to speak out against the accuser in this trial because of the veritable _ cocktail _ of potions he has been given by Mr. Malfoy —”

The entire Wizengamot exploded into gasps, shouts, and the kind of whispers that were louder than simply talking. Kingsley had to bang his gavel several times in order to gather everyone's cooperation again. For his part, Harry just stared open-mouthed at the hand digging deeply into his arm, struck by Tom's horrific proposal that being with Draco... defending him and choosing him over Tom over and over again, might not have been an Harry's choice _at all_.

It couldn't be true, Harry thought, thinking back over the past few weeks. Things weren't... _great_, but _Harry'd_ made those decisions. He'd had all those feelings himself, he knew he had.

"Auror Potter is the lead on the investigation regarding the listening devices," Tom informed them all, ignoring Tutala's _'That investigation was not sanctioned by my office!'_ as he continued. "I have brought with me his case files, which he has compiled with the support of Head Auror Robards —" A pair of respectful nods were exchanged by the men. "— and on which he partnered with myself and Madam Hermione Granger of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I think you’ll find that Harry’s investigation only uncovered one-hundred-and-ninety-eight devices, nine less than your _untrained_ _civilian_ of an accuser, here, supposedly found. This _trial_ is just a sloppy attempt by one man to take out the biggest threat: the investigating officer."

Harry frowned at Tom, whose finger pads dug into the brand before speaking again. 

"If you're looking for the person who arranged for the delivery of those listening devices, you don't need to look farther than the one doing the accusing and arranging for emergency Wizengamot meetings in the middle of the night, bringing in only those who would support his claims and excluding those who would oppose him."

There was a pregnant pause, and then Harry’s whisper of “_What_?" was lost in the second explosion of sound in as many minutes. Tom’s fingers massaged pain through the fabric of Harry's pajama sleeve and his gentler thumb stroked supportively across the back of Harry's forearm and yet, still, Harry looked behind his chair to Draco for a cue on how to feel about Tom’s accusation.

Draco looked _ ecstatic. _

He tried to hide it with a Melpomene mask of shock and dismay but without his Obscuring Charm he was an_ appallingly _ bad actor. Even so… even seeing the false expressions on his face and the hard glint in his eye when he looked back at Harry — he still couldn’t fathom the man doing as Tom had accused. A part of him — the Auror part — recognized that very inability could be from the mind control magic at work, but still he couldn’t accept that _Draco_ was guilty. Perhaps he too was being set up by someone else.

Once order was established — barely, with discontented muttering continuing at a much lower level — Draco spoke again.

“I have more testimony to give,” he said, voice ringing out without any of the false humility he’d worn up to that point.

“You purposefully left something out of your deposition?” Kingsley asked, voice disapproving.

“Have you even _ read _ my deposition?” Draco challenged, and Tom’s steadily working fingers stilled, his frame appearing to ready itself.

Taken aback, Kingsley blustered, “Mr. Malfoy you are —”

“It’s funny how you brought up potions and spellwork,” Draco said then, having turned away from Kingsley dismissively to square himself towards Tom. “Considering it was only after he met _ you _ when he started acting oddly. Didn’t _ you _ break the record in school for highest marks, including Potions and Charms, Riddle?”

“Just what are you implying?” Tom returned, the tenor voice Harry was so attracted to roughening in warning.

“_You _ are the one who was using mind control on Harry. How many times has he been seen entering your office _with the door closed _this week alone? _You_ are the one controlling him, turning him against me, making a play for total control of the Ministry. It’s not a secret, is it? You’ve wanted to be Minister for _ decades_. _You_ spelled the statues. _ You _ forced Harry to distribute them and _ you _ are the one who’s been dosing him with Loyalty Draughts — and who knows what else — so that he can’t fight you. So that he can’t even _ remember_.”

_ ‘So that he can’t even remember,’ _ Harry’s mind echoed. He’d fallen under Tom’s spell within minutes of meeting him at his _ boyfriend’s own party_. What if the ‘spell’ he’d fallen under was an all too real incantation, cast while his back was turned?

_ 'I hate you so much right now… why don't you love me?'_ his torn heart reminded.

No. If… _if_ someone did dose him, it wasn't Tom.

“_Loyalty _ Draughts, you say?" Tom purred. "How _ specific_. Shall we put it to the test?” Harry looked up to see a sharp smile being directed down at him. “Harry, darling, do you think Draco could _possibly_ have broken the law?”

Harry frowned, mouth opening. _ ‘It was possible,’ _ he wanted to say. Anything was possible from anyone; he’d learned that at fourteen, hadn’t he? But when he looked back at Draco again, he just couldn’t see the man doing what Riddle had accused him of.

“I… I’m sorry,” Harry said. Draco’s grin grew vicious, but Harry saw — with no small amount of combined awe and horror — the trap Tom was springing. '_No. It can't be true.'_

“Harry, Draco violated you earlier tonight. Do you hold him responsible?”

Heat crawled up Harry’s neck and ears and he fruitlessly yanked at Tom’s grip on his arm, his chains rattling loudly within the relative silence of the courtroom. “It wasn’t like that,” he said desperately. “It was consensual. I don’t know why he did it, but it was consensual.”

His breath was loud in his ears and his heartbeat pulsed hard in his neck, and still Tom wouldn’t let his brand go, no matter how many times Harry attempted to pull away.

“You’re fine, Harry,” Tom said quietly, voice strained. Then, louder, “And me? Do you think it’s possible that I may have dosed you with potions or spells?”

Harry squirmed, uncomfortable in a different way, then. He knew Tom was trying to prove that his mind automatically bent itself in order to protect Draco, but the truth was, beyond that quick, analytical dose of doubt a minute previous, he _ didn’t _ think Tom was anything but a man who was perhaps more blunt and forceful than would be desired but entirely blameless in this instance. He believed what Tom had said… he _wanted_ Harry's submission... but not by force.

“It’s possible,” he said finally, making an effort to think of Tom as a suspect, rather than a confidant. “You had plenty of access to me… and the first memory I have of you is charged with unusually strong emotions I didn’t expect.” He turned his face down and away from the Wizengamot and Draco’s supporters who curved around to this right, humiliation complete with that last admission. “Like Draco said, you also have motive,” he said to finish.

“Tired of biding his time… waiting for the right conditions to become Minister, he seizes control of the society’s Golden Boy,” Draco narrated. 

_ ‘Shut the fuck up, Draco,’ _ Harry couldn’t say.

"My last questions, Harry. If I attacked you, could you raise your wand towards me?"

“Yes.” Easily. He might do it even if the man was unarmed. Tom had pissed him _ off_ in the beginning.

"If Draco did, could you raise your wand against him, as well?"

Harry struggled to say ‘yes.’ It wasn’t until he physically _ couldn’t _ that he fully accepted what Tom had laid before the court. "I'm… I'm sorry…"

"I believe I've proved my point," Tom announced, facing the Minister once again. "Harry _ is _ under the influence of a Loyalty Draught, at the very _ least_. But it’s quite obviously not _ me _ it’s attuned to.”

“I call this session to a temporary recess while the interrogators figure out what to do with… this new development,” Kingsley said, voice unsure as he raised his gavel.

A single man behind the interrogators stood then, and Harry recognized Augustin Selwyn. 

“Actually," he called, standing proudly, "we are ready to vote,” he said. As if pre-coordinated, person after person stood — familiar faces, faces he’d _ known _ to memorize, all of them — and Harry’s eyes flew to a bewildered Arthur, partially blocked by the bodies in front of him until he hesitantly rose too, as if unsure what was happening.

Harry was confused as well. At no point in the proceedings should there be any reason for a mass stand like what was happening right then. The Wizengamot voted by the raising of hands, not _ bodies_.

“I do not recall requesting a verdict,” Kingsley answered cautiously, standing as well, his posture firming into an Auror's ready stance.

“We are ready to vote on the original charges, the additional charges Mr. Malfoy brought forth... as well as the charges that will be set before Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt this morning by the Daily Prophet.”

Tom’s hand became bruising around Harry’s arm.

“Uprising,” Harry breathed to him, and Tom nodded, eyes widening even as he took a quick step forward to bring attention to himself.

“The case files compiled by Auror Potter are yet to be viewed,” Tom called, voice quick, urgent.

“The personnel files and background checks of everyone who received a statue are included,” Harry added, unsure if the magic would allow him to speak until the words had actually exited his mouth. "Those in attendance can still view their own file before they're locked."

Selwyn visibly paused, eyes flicking over behind Harry, to Draco. Harry was counting on the fact that if — _ if _ — Draco was the one behind the statues, he would not have shared any of the information he’d gained with his supporters. Or even told them that he’d placed them in the first place. Most of the bodies up there probably received statues themselves, and might have found out at the beginning of that very session what their pretty little gift had actually been. Surely they would be interested to see just what the Ministry itself had on them…?

“If we remand both Auror Potter and Mister Riddle into custody, will you agree peaceably to adjourn for greater deliberation over the files?” Kingsley inquired, voice polite but firm.

Selwyn looked away from Draco to Kingsley.

“Yes.”

“Augustin!” Draco snarled.

Kingsley banged the gavel one decisive time, still standing.

“Take Auror Potter and Mr. Riddle into custody. We will deliberate… and reconvene.”

Draco cursed under his breath, low and angrily enough that Harry couldn’t quite catch the specific invective used.

“Mr. Riddle,” Auror Jacobs prompted, holding out his hand for Tom's wand.

“Just a moment,” Tom replied calmly.

“Minister,” he called out next. “Auror Potter needs medical treatment. It is only the pain I am causing him now which is keeping his mind from tearing itself apart at Malfoy’s blatant betrayal of his magically-enforced loyalty. We cannot risk waiting for the potions to weaken naturally; he will need to be purged.”

A hundred pairs of eyes dropped to the unreasonably tight grip Tom had on Harry’s arm.

“Of course,” he said, frowning at Tom’s hand and then up at Harry who smiled tightly. “Of course,” he repeated. “A healer will be roused immediately. For now —”

“Auror,” a voice said from Harry’s right.

“Peterson,” Harry greeted, giving the woman a respectful nod.

“Take Auror Potter to the dungeon's medical clinic,” Kingsley ordered, pointing behind him and to the side where the relevant door stood. “After the Healer has attended to him he is to go into a holding cell.”

“Yes, sir,” she affirmed.

Kingsley met Harry’s gaze next, lips pressed firmly together, fear in his eyes but not in the determined way he held his body. Harry stared back, trying to exude dauntlessness as his shackles were released and he replaced Tom’s ruthless hand on the brand with his own. Despite the show of undefeated strength he was putting on for his Minister, he felt weak, helpless. What could they do, he wondered. Selwyn — Draco, too, _maybe_ — had them cornered neatly.

“This emergency session of the Wizengamot will reconvene, time to be announced later,” the Minister finally announced, looking away and down.

He brought his gavel down one more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naughty pureblood Wizengamot members! And... maybe naughty Draco? *Holds arm tightly, swaying dizzily*


	14. Chapter 14

# Chapter Fourteen

* * *

* * *

_ ‘What about it, Potter?’_

_ ‘Fuck off, Malfoy, I’m not interested.’_

_ ‘I think you’re scared.’_

_ Harry paused, looking over at the blond grinning viciously back at him._

_ He wanted to wipe that fucking smug look off his pinched, inbred face._

Harry’s body was wracked with seizure-like spasms as heat spread from the top of his spine out towards the rest of him, similar but opposite to the Wit-Sharpening Potion’s biting cold.

“_Petrificus totalis_,” was cast over him, and his body snapped straight as a board on the thin mattress he was laying on. “He must have been dosed for a very long time for this violent of a reaction to occur,” Healer Green reported to Auror Peterson.

“Can you give me an estimate?”

“At least a year, maybe longer,” was the answer. “The purge will take longer, with that length of exposure. It's in his cells.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut as the heat intensified.

_ “What are we, Harry?” Draco asked, sweating and panting in the aftermath of their latest tryst._

_ “I don’t fucking know,” Harry said truthfully._

_ Draco rolled over him, that bitter tea back on his lips as he kissed Harry, another clash of lips and tongue. He hadn’t even seen Draco reach for the tea service by the bed, though he must have. “What are we, Harry?” he asked again._

_ Harry looked up at crystalline grey and felt a little jerk behind his chest. “Together?” he whispered hopefully. Draco grinned, and it was hard-edged and angry but Harry couldn’t see that, didn’t notice._

“No…” Harry moaned out from between clenched teeth. The ripping sensation in his chest had increased unbearably, the conjoined hearts stretched thin at their joining.

“Don’t fight it,” the Healer advised. “The Loyalty Draught will make you feel like you can’t live without it, but it’s not real.”

“Heart... hurts…”

“There must have been a love potion in the mix. Weak, if he was still able to carry on normally... perhaps an Infatuation Intinction or similar grade. It’s not real, Auror Potter. Let it go.”

“Hurts…”

_ “Need more lube,” Harry groaned as Draco’s thrusts gradually took on a harsh, burning quality._

_ “Don’t you fucking dare interrupt this,” Draco growled, not stopping. "I won't be able to get it up again. We don't all have super dicks like you."_

_ “Draco, it hurts. Get the lube.”_

_ Draco curved over his back, still moving shallowly. “What if we didn’t need lube?” he whispered into Harry’s ear._

“We should check him for signs of Obliviation,” Peterson said. “Do you have the device on hand?”

“In my kit. I’ll grab it. The potion should be done purging his system soon."

“Please,” Harry breathed. Everything burned. He was so hot. So — so _lonely_...

“Just a few more minutes, Auror,” Green called out. A dry tissue wiped his eyes and temples. “Just a few more minutes.”

"Please… stop it..."

_ “Hey, Draco,” Harry greeted, bending and giving him a warm kiss ‘hello.’ He trailed a hand along his boyfriend’s neck and shoulder, luxuriating in the feel of his partner beneath his hand._

_ Draco grinned and it was sharp. He sat back in his chair... luxuriating in the way Harry Potter was fawning all over him._

“You poor dear,” the Healer said, wiping his face again. “You can’t help but feel sorry for the guy, even with what he’s accused of.”

“I don’t believe for a _ second _ that Auror Potter should be in here while his scumbag _ ex-_boyfriend walks free. Who do you _ think _ gave him the potions starting a year ago? Who caused the positive Obliviation result?”

"But they've been together for a few years, haven't they? It's hard to recall a time when I didn't see them in the papers..."

"No," Harry disagreed through chattering teeth, the only part of him allowed to suffer the shakes still. "One year."

_ "I hate you, I hate you," Tom chanted as Harry writhed and came messily all over both their clothes. "I hate you so much," Tom wept into his shoulder. "Why don't you love me?"_

_ Harry couldn't respond. He knew he felt something, something _strong_... but he wasn't allowed to admit it._

"I think it's over with," the Healer notified Auror Peterson as the dizzying flood of perspective slowed. "_Finite incantatem_."

Harry's body relaxed into the mattress, his limbs quaking with much smaller tremors than before.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, turning on his side, facing away from the two women. "Can I have a moment alone, please?"

"I'm sorry, Auror, but you can't be left on your own," Peterson denied.

Harry draped an arm over his head while his other surreptitiously wiped away fresh tears. "Please don't tell the guys about this," he pleaded, audibly sobbing.

"I won't," she murmured in reply. "I'll just write in the report that you displayed the typical symptoms of love potion removal and leave it at that."

They let him be until he'd worked out the last traces of heat still curling around his solo heart out through his eyes, frame wracked with sobs and fist clenched against biting teeth to avoid making noise. He’d spent an entire year letting _ fucking Draco Malfoy _ yank him around on a golden shit-covered leash, God _ damn _ it. What the fuck had he let that little piece of five-star hotel trash _ do _ to him?

“Auror Potter,” Peterson called when his sobs had reduced to dry quivering. “We need to take your statement now.”

Harry scrubbed his face and then turned to face the music. He was free, he reminded the part of himself that still balked at speaking poorly of Draco — of _Malfoy._ He was free and he _hated_ so very deeply everything that had been done to him. Had it really been just hours ago that he'd thought he'd just discovered this hate? His hate was an old thing now, a stabbing throughout his limbs that demanded he seek retribution.

Draco was _absolutely_ going to pay.

"Were they successful?" Tom asked as soon as Harry came into view, pressing himself against the bars as Harry was marched, still seething, to his cell.

"Yeah," he grunted, slowing down to give Tom a searching look before entering his room without further fuss.

Without the potions clogging his sense of perception, it was like he was seeing the other man for the first time. In that short glance, Tom's beautiful face had seemed so incredibly familiar that it could have been Harry's own face in the mirror... and yet so very interesting that he thought he could have kept staring forever, memorizing every enchanting feature while never getting bored. It was with genuine regret that he had walked out of view.

"And? How do you feel?" Tom pushed, as Harry's escort left to chat with the guard on duty.

Harry hesitated, gnawing on his lip for a moment before realizing he was _still_ following the habits he’d developed while artificially loyal to Draco — _fuck. __Malfoy_. He didn't need to pause and monitor his words anymore; he could _make his own decisions_.

"The name I was going to call you?" he called out recklesly.

Absolute silence came from the other cell, and Harry could imagine Tom holding his breath at the idea of finally getting his answer.

"It was: 'my one.' It was stupid and overly sentimental," Harry growled, scuffing his for against the ground, "but I wanted to call you 'my one,' and Malfoy's stupid potion kept me from saying it."

"Harry," Tom called, and recognizing the needful way his name was spoken, Harry shuffled over until he could press himself against the corner where their shared wall met bars.

Harry lowered his voice now that they were physically closer to one another. "They said the potion he used was developed to ensure fealty for the monarchy before the creation of the Statute of Secrecy," he muttered. "I could cheat all I wanted, but I couldn't _value_ youabove him. I didn't love him, wasn't even truly _in _love with him, and so couldn't say either of those about you, either."

"You should know," he ground out, still so fucking pissed that he couldn't sweeten his tone, even with what he was about to say, "that I'm in love with you. Maybe love you, definitely in love."

"And you already know I love you," Tom said quietly, his voice tight but the relief in it loud and clear.

"_Fuck_, I want to see you,” Harry vented, smacking the bars with the palms of his hands before turning his head, looking over his shoulder, back the way he’d been brought. 

When he spoke next, his voice was contemplatively grumpy. “I keep asking myself, "why did he do this to us?' but then he said it all already, didn't he? When he was talking about _ you_, he didn't seem like he was acting any more. He was projecting."

“Yes,” Tom agreed with a strong bite to his voice. "I knew he'd been after_ my _ job for years. It seems he got tired of waiting, like he said, and decided to reach for even higher."

Malfoy's actions weren't the only ones Harry was concerned about, though.

“You knew he’d done this to me, didn’t you? Earlier, at my place, when I kept getting lost.”

“I suspected… but every time you thought of him hurting you I _ saw _ you fade to the back of your mind. I didn’t know how much he’d given you… what else might be in your system, how unstable the effect might be together. I _ couldn’t _ tell you until you were free to be locked away for hours, purging.”

“So you made light of it, kept me distracted.”

“Hurt you.”

"Yes," Harry agreed. "You did. Which could be forgiven, because it saved me until you could come back... but Tom —" Harry lowered his voice even further. "— the intent of that spell was really fucking Dark. The kind of Dark that I _know is illegal_," Harry pressed, his voice a harsh whisper. "_What did you do_?"

“I panicked. I’m _sorry_. But it kept you tied to me and my magic — it _saved_ you. I won't fucking apologize for that. You were _gone_ when I got here. If I hadn't pushed my intent into the Mark you would have been lost forever.”

“I know _why_ you did it,” Harry muttered, pressing his forehead against one of the bars until it hurt and struggling to get a hold on the rush of emotion telling him fighting with Tom was _terrible, wrong,_ and that Harry needed to take back his harsh tone and _fix it._

“Do you forgive me, then?”

"Is the brand what's making me feel bad for getting angry with you right now?"

"No," Tom said, suddenly amused. "It doesn't do anything except give me a vague awareness of you — like a heart beat that I can feel if I pay attention. I'm not like him, Harry."

“Is it permanent?” Even now the brand burned, a low grade fever localized to the black lines inscribed into his skin.

“I think so,” Tom said, sighing. “I’m really sorry.”

“So my arm will always hurt like this?”

“I can probably fix that. But the… connection to me will probably always be there. And my initials. I developed the concept behind the Mark when I was an angry teenager… but the incantation I used tonight was spontaneous.”

“It really sounded like you said ‘fuck me.’”

“I — huh, you’re right. It meant something else.”

“You wanna stop stalling and tell me what it actually was?”

“The incantation means ‘make mine,’” Tom said at last. “It’s vastly different from the incantation I thought of as an adolescent,” he continued hurriedly, as if he thought he needed to convince Harry not to become angry again. “That one was ‘death bite.’”

Harry paused. “Er — how… _ distributed_, was this anger?”

“It was confined to paper, don’t you worry, Auror Potter,” Tom teased, before becoming serious. “I was a Slytherin raised by a Muggle. Head Boy or not — there was plenty of anger to be getting on with back then.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, thinking that Tom’s life in Slytherin had probably been very difficult. “Tom,” he called.

“Yes?”

“I want to destroy him.”

Tom snorted, understanding Harry's change of subject instantly. “He’s going to destroy himself.”

“I don’t see how. The majority of the Wizengamot support him — or at least have been threatened by him or owe him something.” Harry pushed his body fall away from the bars to rest against the dark stone wall in frustration. “Kingsley only bought us time.”

"Do you really think it will go down as he's planned?" Tom asked, ridiculing. Oddly enough, even in his hot mood, the derisive tone helped to calm Harry down. He could use some confidence, and Tom seemed to have it in spades at the moment.

"The road I've built towards Minister is paved in my_ own _ blood and sweat. A little prick like Malfoy who relies on the fear and power of others will _ never _ have the support of the International Confederation of Wizards. I guarantee you every _ sous-secretaire_, _ juniorpräsident_, and _ subsecretario junior _ on the continent is scrambling to alert their bosses and organize their superior's day around responding to our incarceration — not to mention our allies' reactions overseas. There _ will _ be uproar."

Tom's arrogance had made Harry _ livid _ in the beginning. Now, hearing his accent switch perfectly from one language to the next, declaring that the obstacles before them would crumble into dust, Harry craved more of it. "You swear?" he demanded. “You _swear_ I will see him ruined?”

"Oh, Harry, here, take my hand," Tom called, voice firming. Harry obediently reached through the space between the wall and the very first bar and flailed sideways, searching until he hit Tom's outstretched hand and held on.

"Harry," Tom said then, squeezing tight. "I know he's hurt you, badly. I know it feels like he's taken your power away, made you second-guess yourself, _ mute _ yourself, time and time again, and you're _furious_... but remember, you have just as many supporters as I do, from your _ own _ hard work. I know that your Madam Granger should be blasting down the Wizengamot office doors right about now."

"As always, you underestimate me, Riddle," her familiar voice rang out from down the hall, followed by the soft _ shushing _ of her feet coming nearer. "I've already come and gone from the Wizengamot."

Her beloved head of hair — wild, as if she ran out of the house without pinning it as she usually did — came into view and then kept on going until she could stand between cells and see them both. She promptly gave Tom an unimpressed look.

"You may stop glaring challenges at me whenever you wish," Hermione informed him. "I'm not about to object to you comforting my best friend while you both are being unfairly detained."

Harry promptly released the hand he was clinging to, only to have Tom claw in deeper, refusing to let him let go.

"_Tom_!" he hissed.

"After all _ this _ I am not letting you cast me aside again!" was hissed right back.

"Hermione, update?" Harry pleaded, letting his limp hand be held.

"Don't be too proud, Harry. Riddle raised hell on every level of the Ministry to garner support for you," Hermione chided gently.

“You did?” he asked frowning. “Is that why you were late?”

“Of _ course. _ What did you think I was doing, you foolish boy?”

“You cast a painful spell on me and left, and then the next time I saw you, you were wearing different clothes and your hair was perfect again! What do you _ think _ I thought?”

“These are the same robes, only transfigured for appearance's sake. Your blood is still on the cuff, even. I can show you.”

“There’s a huge crowd in the lobby, demanding to see you,” Hermione added, her voice still scolding Harry. "Tom did that. He alerted me, as well."

“A crowd?” he asked, frowning. That didn’t fit with the wizarding world he knew. People protected themselves, and stared, enraptured, as accidents happened right in front of them.

"Yes, and most of them standing around in their bedclothes, too."

“It’s not just about me, though,” Harry said, serious. “It’s a coup. I don’t know who they’ve picked to replace Kingsley, but they were set to declare us guilty and remove him from power right there in the courtroom.”

Tom chuckled angrily. “My money is that Malfoy would be ever so humbly grateful to take the reins of leadership.”

"But we don't _ know _ it's him," Harry argued. "He could just be the lynchpin to the uprising. Anyone could just be using him to advance themselves."

"You sure that Loyalty Draught is out of your system?" Tom sniped, vicious.

“_None_ of that matters if we can prove to the Wizengamot that overthrowing the current government is no longer the safe bet they thought it was,” Hermione told them, voice impatiently stern. “The support helps, but really it’s turning the tide on Malfoy that’s going to make the difference. They're _ cowards_. He must have promised them a sure thing. Harry, I heard you were admitted for Loyalty Draught removal, but I was not permitted to see the report. How did it go?”

“He began dosing me soon after we started... _ seeing _ each other,” Harry admitted, flushing in embarrassment and disgust. “I wasn’t that into him before that point... wouldn't put up with his shit. Loyalty Draught and a weak love potion, apparently.”

“They’ll imprison him for that,” Hermione said encouragingly, "and you being free of his influence will weaken the confidence they have in him."

“Have any foreign governments contacted the Wizengamot?” Tom asked next.

“Just France,” she said, and the outcome of that message rang loud and clear in her voice. “They support Malfoy’s claim.”

“They would,” he said, tone dismissive but his hand gripped Harry’s tighter with the bad tidings.

“My time is almost up,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye out for foreign diplomats. “You think they would support you?”

“Yes.”

“Harry, Arthur wanted me to tell you he’s sorry that he didn’t call in support for you before arriving. He didn’t know it would be you in the chair.”

“Please tell him I understand.”

“I will. Ron wishes you the best; he’s downstairs wrangling the crowd.”

“Wrangling them or selling Wheezes to them?”

“Hah. Let me go. There’s more work to be done... but you should expect to be freed within the next few hours.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” Tom said, a shade doubtfully, and both Harry and Hermione blinked at the odd phrase before Hermione was off, heading back towards the entrance.

“You’re not religious, are you?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“No. It's just a habit, I guess. My father was, near the end of his life and I went along with it for him. He wanted to go into death with hope... and I would do anything to make his time left easier.”

“Hope would be a nice thing to have right about now,” Harry agreed.

Raised voices came from the entrance, and both Harry and Tom’s hands squeezed reflexively around each other at the sound of Draco’s high-volume demands to see his ex-boyfriend.

“Better keep our hands inside the bars while he’s here,” Tom said quietly.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, letting go.

“Back up so he can’t touch you through the bars.”

“Already done.”

“Smart.”

“I’m not that smart,” Harry refuted quietly, a lump growing in his throat. “I _ remember_, though.”

"Good."

Hard footsteps with a long stride echoed the short distance to Harry’s cell.

“_Potter_,” Draco greeted, snarling. “You were supposed to lose your mind.”

“I _ wondered _ if that was on purpose,” Tom commented airily.

“Shut up, Riddle,” he snapped back. “You’re still going to Azkaban… both of you. And when I’m Minister, what do you think my first action will be about the horrifically lax state of security there?”

“You really think you’ll succeed _ still_?” Tom scoffed. “The results of Harry’s medical appointment will speak loudly and clearly. What do you think will happen when that report hits the Head Auror’s hands?”

“Why me?” Harry asked next, interrupting whatever scathing retort Draco might have given next. “Using me to advance your position… your place in life, I get that part. But I saved your _ life _ during the war, just as your mother saved mine. Why _ ruin _ me, instead of simply casting me to the side when you were done?”

“Do you know how stupid you look when you come, Potter?”

Harry frowned at the odd question. “What?”

“Your whole face changes. Scrunches up. You look like an fucking idiot.” Draco advanced towards the barrier in front of Harry, and sneered.

"Did you think a Notice-Me-Not Charm would work against me _ in my own ancestral home_?" Draco hissed, clenching the bars in his hands and losing his poise for the first time. 

“Did you think I wouldn't notice you fucking my own boss in my own house, at my own party, out in the open? You _ knew _ how much I hate him, and it took you what? Two minutes before you let him touch you? You had never even _seen _him before, I'd made _sure _of it. Two minutes, Potter, you _worthless __fucking whore_.”

Harry couldn’t even defend himself. It was true… he’d been helpless against Tom that night. Trapped in a magically compulsory relationship, confronted with his first taste of true passion in over a year — he’d been lost the moment Tom had started his begging routine.

“You are going _ down_, Potter,” Draco swore, his eyes glittering malice. “No matter what comes out of this. You are going to _suffer_. You both are.”

“Hey, Malfoy,” Tom drawled.

“_What, _ Riddle?” Draco snarled.

“Look on the floor behind you.”

Harry tilted to the side to look beyond Draco’s robes, and there on the ground was the red-and-gold-swirled crystal statue of a witch with her golden wand raised.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered, realizing it was right where she’d been standing. Harry hadn’t even noticed it.

“_Reducto_!” Draco shouted, and the statue exploded, throwing shards everywhere. “You’ll _ pay _ for this!” he yelled, whirling on Riddle. “You both will! I swear it!”

Footsteps pounded down the hall, and Draco sped towards them. “Expelliarmus! Stupefy!” he cried as he went, and the sound of a dropping body sounded.

Harry tensed, recognizing with sharp clarity his and Tom’s vulnerability, wandless as they were, but Draco kept running out of the dungeon and back into the courtroom.

Draco had been gone for thirty seconds of shocked silence before a harsh laugh burst out from the cell next to his.

"That utter _ fool_," Tom scathed, and for once Harry didn't mind the cruel pleasure in the tone as it was directed at their common enemy. “He _ is _ desperate… he saw that statue and panicked. He could still have explained it away!”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, voice shaky.

“You alright?” Tom asked, noticing immediately.

“I was worried he’d come back, for a second there. We don’t have wands, and he's illogical. I've seen that go — so very badly, before.”

“I hope they let us out soon,” Tom commented thoughtfully.

Harry burst out into sudden, unexpected laughter. “And to think…” he said, giggling. “I was insulted I didn’t merit receiving a statue!”

“I told you there was a reason for it.”

Harry sobered. It had been a small comment they hadn’t dwelled on. There’d been nothing they could glean from the idea at the time, or so they'd thought.

“You were right, too,” Harry agreed. “He knew what he was going to do from the beginning… those statues went out before I’d even met you, that night. It wasn’t really about revenge. Not like he says it was.”

“No, I don’t think so either. He just wanted to blame you for his own decisions.”

"Yeah."

"You look beautiful when you come, by the way."

"Tom," Harry scolded, cheeks heating.

"No, I'm serious. When your eyes shut and your eyebrows go up… so helpless against your own pleasure… beautiful."

"Stop talking," Harry groaned.

"I'll just think about it, instead."

“Oh my _God_…”

"Mmm," Tom hummed in apparent ecstacy, and Harry rolled his eyes, refusing to egg him on further.

Harry recognized the shushing sound that came down the hallway a few minutes later as belonging to Hermione, but not the multitude of other feet accompanying her until they came into view, crunching on the statue chips. Down the hall, someone cast ‘_Rennervate_!’ and a low groan promptly followed as Harry’s eyes landed on Robards and a small contingent of Aurors, one with a bright red mark on his jaw that was quickly developing into a bruise, another with the singed and soaked robes of someone who had previously been on fire.

“Auror Potter,” Robards greeted, face grim. Beside him, Auror Peterson quickly started vanishing the crystal shards surrounding Harry's bare feet, and the path towards the cel door.

“The Wizengamot have backed down,” Hermione announced proudly.

“That's a real good job, Hermione,” Harry complimented with feeling. Auror Jacobs came forward with his wand, and tapped the specific combination of passwords and spells it took to unlock the door.

Harry left the cell as soon as the door opened. Here may have gone in voluntarily, but he was not about to stay in there a second longer than absolutely necessary. 

“Is Draco in custody? He attacked —” Harry looked down the hall to the guard who was back on duty, shamefaced. “— Auror Crestio.”

“He escaped and is on the run,” Robards answered, and Harry nearly shivered at the sound of his voice. It was the same tone he used before briefing Aurors for a mission. It never failed to get Harry pumped up and ready to go.

“Have the Hit Witches and Wizards been mobilized?” Harry asked, looking from face to face as he heard Tom being freed and then felt his warmth, electric against his back.

“They tried,” Auror Peterson chirped, an uncommon smirk gracing her lips as she sent a sneaky glance Robards' way.

“I reminded them that Malfoy technically qualifies as a Dark wizard thanks to his allegiances and training prior to the end of the war,” Hermione said, putting her hand in her pocket and fishing something out. “And hunting down Dark wizards is something that _ Aurors _ do.”

On her open palm laid Harry’s wand.

“Are you up to completing your case, Auror Potter?” Robards asked, a dark smile on his face. "You've come this far."

“Fuck yes,” he breathed.

Behind him, Tom began to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what's coming next, bbys <3<3<3


	15. Chapter 15

# Chapter Fifteen

* * *

* * *

“There’s a trap here with a Severing Charm inside,” Harry informed the team in front of him, pointing at the a spot near the walls surrounding the Malfoy Manor grounds on the map provided. The Curse-Breakers assigned to the mission leaned in to get a better look at the loaction.

“It’s decent strength and will fire until exhausted, too, so don’t go near it without either Curse-Breaker A's 'green' call or a Shield Charm up or you _ will _ lose a limb.”

He looked around, gratified that everyone seemed to be taking him seriously, and no one _ currently _ seemed to be perturbed about the fact that he’d been compromised for over a year. Perhaps having changed out of his pajamas and into a spare uniform helped matters.

“Team One, do _ not _ approach through the gardens,” he advised, using his wand to draw a glowing red square around the border of the back garden with an “X” throughout. “There are plenty of statues and pretty flowers to pull the eye away from the traps scattered there, and _ trust me _ there are a bunch. The peacocks mostly roam here, and here,” he said pointing out the yard on either side of the front drive, “and they _ will _ shriek the alarm the moment they catch sight of us. Teams Two and Three, if the advance team members miss one and they see you, _ stupefy _ them immediately. They don’t look like much, but their wings are incredibly strong and their bites are no joke either. They _ will not _ be scared away, or back down once they get going.”

Harry had seen them chase a trespassing reporter around the grounds, and Draco had laughed and laughed.

Harry pointed to two spots on the walls, several meters on either side of the main gate. “The gate is impenetrable — don’t even try — and the walls are anchored over three meters down into the ground with a wide foundation under the grass. I believe our best bet is place an Anti-Apparation Jinx over the one already in place, and to flush him out the front. If I know him — which I believe I finally do — he will take the path of least resistance and dirt: the driveway, and out the gate. If we send Team One to the back, to a weak spot I noticed, _here_, have you all visibly and _ loudly _countering hexes, appearing to be attempting to charge while sending in a two-prong stealth approach from the front, Teams Two and Three can hopefully sneak up on him from either side in a pincer move. Trapped.”

“Malfoy will never believe we’re _ only _ approaching from the back,” Auror Aakaya said.

“Yes,” Harry said, bringing a hand up to his head, “he will.” He sprinkled the hairs he’d ripped out of his scalp over the map, right where he thought was the best place for a flashy back-wall entrance. “Auror Brall, are you up to appearing angry and out for Malfoy blood?”

“You know it,” the man replied grinning and cracking his knuckles, then his neck.

“Gross,” Aakaya commented under her breath.

“Go home to your baby,” Brall snorted, but the smile he sent to her afterwards was teasing and friendly.

“That’s ‘go home to your baby, _ ma’am_,’” she retorted. “I’m _ your _ team lead.”

“Okay,” Harry said, quelling the bickering with the strident tone he used. “Let’s go over the Malfoy’s signature spells and the possible potion matter we may come up against. Let’s not forget that they both are familiar casting all three Unforgivables, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” echoed around the room. Leaning against the wall behind three rows of Aurors, Tom sent him a heated smile, apparently reveling in the respect Harry was was being shown. Harry averted his gaze quickly, but not soon enough to avoid being flustered. It was best to avoid looking at him for the time being, he thought. 

_ ‘At least until I get used to the way I feel around him, now,’ _ he rationalized.

“Do you believe the mother will get involved?” Aakaya asked, leaning closer to study the map closer.

“It is almost guaranteed,” Harry said regretfully, refocusing on the responsibility at hand. “She would do absolutely anything for her son. My hope would be that she would be neutralized as soon as possible before she gets herself into too much trouble for his sake. Up until this point she's thought to be relatively uninvolved... he should not be allowed to ruin her life.”

“And if she uses those Unforgivables she knows so well?” Jacobs challenged. Harry met his gaze steadily.

“Neutralize the threat and let the newly cowed Wizengamot handle her fate. Same as any other mission.”

He looked around. “There can be no hesitation, from anybody. He is a Dark wizard on the run, and we are Aurors. It is that simple. Forget bar nights and the time he time he remembered your kid’s birthday — it was all fake ingratiating, anyway.”

Not that he was bitter.

“Team One, copy?”

“Copy,” Aakaya whispered in his ear.

“Teams Two and Three, copy?”

“Copy.”

One of magical voices in his ear was echoed by the physical voice of Auror Yorkenson to his left, and he gave the mostly-invisible man a tense nod in acknowledgement, only Harry's Disillusioned head sticking out of his Cloak so that his team could catch a shimmering glimpse of him.

“Cursebreakers A, B, and C, copy?”

“Copy.”

“Alright. Here we go, everyone. B and C set to dismantling the traps on the wall. And go.”

He heard the rustle of movement ahead of him, but otherwise the disillusioned Curse-Breakers were completely silent as they worked, no verbal casting or flashy spellwork to give them away.

“B, done,” ghosted across his ear after ten long minutes of silence and shuffling feet.

“C, done,” came from Harry’s cursebreaker two minutes later.

“Owe me a beer,” B muttered to C.

“Ladders, set. Ladders, go,” Harry prompted. Ahead of him a shadow moved fast, making a spell-enhanced leap onto the wall.

“Team Two, ladder set.”

Harry’s team member thudded back down to the ground next.

“Team Three, ladder set,” echoed in front of him.

“Alright. Team One, status?”

“Clear, sir.”

“A, set to dismantle harmful curses _ only_. And go.”

Five minutes later: “A, done.”

“Team One, Shields up.”

“Team One, Shields are up.”

“Team One… go.”

Far to the other side of the manor, a huge explosion erupted, a large-scale, coordinated _ reducto _ having blown out a large section of the wall.

“Team One, in,” panted the voice in his ear, no longer whispering.

“Team Two and Three, status.”

“Clear,” repeated twice in his ear.

“Teams Two and Three, peacock defense, set. Go.”

Up over the wall another rippling shadow climbed, and Harry heard faint whispers float back to him.

“Quietly,” he warned.

“Team Three, peacocks cleared.”

“Team Two, peacocks cleared.”

“Alright guys, ready,” Yorkensen called softly next to him.

“Team One, status.”

“Team One is fine!” Aakaya screamed in his ear.

Harry winced and shook his head, and focused on not matching her volume for the next prompt. “Teams Two and Three, _ go._”

Harry, as designed, was the first one over the ladder. He surveyed the grounds — peacocks down, good. Grounds quiet, fine. The next body came down over the fence, and Harry hoped it was the Curse-Breaker, working on detecting and removing any traps nearby as planned.

Harry gave them a moment to work before speaking. “B and C, report.”

“Yellow,” reported B, indicating that there was a decent amount of space cleared around him, but beyond that were live traps.

“Red,” reported C, indicating that there were traps close to her position.

“Team Three, pause. Team Two, you’re good to continue.”

“Yellow,” C reported half a minute later.

“Team Three, over the fence... and go.”

“Green,” B said shortly afterwards. No more traps within a short walking distance. Harry bit his lip. It was irritating, but Team Two should definitely go as soon as possible, and Harry's own team... should not.

“Team Two, status.”

“Team Two is over the fence.”

“Team Two, set to begin approach. Do not wait for Team Three. And go.”

“Green,” C said one minute later, voice hurried. Harry breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Team Three, set approach. Let’s go.”

“Mother has entered the fray!” Aakaya shouted in Harry’s ear. “She’s Imperioused Brall!”

_Damn it._

“Neutralize,” ordered Harry, the steady prickling in his limbs rising to fever pitch. He wanted to _ run,_ to _be_ there with them. “Steady, Two and Three,” he warned when the steps around him became quicker, less stealthy as others began to feel the same way.

“B and C, status,” Harry whispered when they were halfway to the drive.

“Green,” was echoed by both voices, indicating they were removing traps steadily, no need to slow down.

“Mother down!” Aakaya shouted, then, “Brall down!”

“Target spotted,” B and C said simultaneously. Their goggles would have shown them the shape of Draco's Disillusionment Charm as he attempted escape.

“Two and Three, here we go,” warned Harry. “Set to contain, _ not stun_. No accidental deaths today. B and C, expose him. _Go_.”

Two identical spells shot out of the darkness, one before him and the other to his left.

“Dodged,” grunted in his ear, more spellwork following.

“He’s on a broom!” the other cursebreaker added.

“Two and Three, go on reveal,” Harry reminded, watching the spells mark a fast trail down the very center of the drive. A growl echoed in his ear, then a spell shot wide, well in front of the others, and revealed Malfoy.

“_Incarcerous_!” chanted a dozen voices on either side of Harry, and a dozen more across the drive.

“_Flippendo_!” Harry chose instead, and watched as all of the ropes were turned away, but his own invisible spell landed, knocking Draco off his broom. Further ropes sent after Draco were deflected frantically, the man still running for the gates and freedom.

“_Impedimenta_!” Harry chanted, and that landed too, slowing Draco down for just a second until he nonverbally cast ‘_finite_’ on himself and stumbled back into a run.

“_Incarcerous_!” Harry shouted, and a sculpted centaur topiary jumped in front of the spell to intercept the binds.

“_Finite_,” he cast at his own Disillusionment Charm next, tossing his Cloak off his head and shoulders until it was just hanging by the clasps he'd added years earlier during training.

“Draco!" He called, trying to draw attention to himself. "Stand up and fight, you coward! _STUPEFY_!”

The spell was deflected by the blond, but just barely.

“Give it up, Potter!” Malfoy shouted. “You taught me everything you know! _ Crucio_!”

“_R-reducto_,” Harry screamed after he fell under the curse. The ground between them exploded upwards, peppering them both with a shower of grass and dirt and cutting off the curse as Draco sought to protect his eyes. Harry panted, only vaguely aware of voices screaming in his ear and topiaries running around left and right as he rolled over, climbing back to his feet.

“It’s OVER, Draco!” he shouted hoarsely. “_Expelliarmus_!” 

Draco dodged. “_Conjunctivitis_!”

Harry Shielded. “_Incarcerous_!”

“Really, Potter?” Draco sneered, walking backwards as he continued to bat away Harry’s spells. “You’re pathetic!”

Harry twisted his second wand within his left hand.

“_Stupefy_!” he cast with his right.

“_Yawn_!” Draco jeered. “Why, I’m getting _ bored_! To think the Wizengamot were actually afraid of _ y_—”

Draco went down, tripped by the root Harry had silently raised behind him. He cast _ incarcerous _ verbally with his right hand and _ expelliarmus _ silently with his left, and after successfully knocking aside Harry's ropes, Draco’s wand flew into his hand with the man laying on the ground still unaware of how Harry'd done it.

Harry guided the right wand back into its holster, taking the left wand into his right hand while advancing on his horrified looking ex.

“I want you to know that you were brought down by your own Listening Charms, and captured with your own wand,” Harry said steadily, waving Draco’s old hawthorn and unicorn hair wand in his hand, not watching the green and silver sparks that trailed behind it. “_Incarcerous_.”

Silken, snakelike ropes erupted from the tip and wrapped Draco tightly, leaving his head and calves free. Even after five and a half years, the wand still remembered enough of its original owner’s personality to affect Harry’s spellwork, even if its allegiance was solidly his.

“Taken in,” Harry continued darkly, “by your own lover.”

“I never loved you,” Draco spat as Harry hauled him up by the ropes covering his chest.

“No?” Harry asked. “Then this shouldn’t bother you at all.” Harry drew back one arm and then let his fist fly until it smacked solidly into Draco’s nose.

“Fuck,” Draco gurgled, dropping to his knees.

“_Stupefy_,” Harry cast carelessly, pausing just long enough to make sure his ex wouldn't drown in his own blood before turning to help his team wrangle the shrubbery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the Manor scene wasn't overly confusing. I based it on my experience working with a live media team, actually, haha.  
"Camera A, ready?"  
"Camera A, ready."  
"Camera A, set. Camera A, go. Slide, go. Chroma key, set... ... ... ... Chroma key, go."
> 
> Fun times. I was completely unqualified. LOL!


	16. Chapter 16

# Chapter Sixteen

* * *

* * *

“Team One, report.”

“Mother contained. Brall down. Minor injuries, no casualties,” Aakaya informed him via the Communicator, voice hoarse and tired.

“Job well done, Team One. Take Mrs. Malfoy and Auror Brall in. Mrs. Malfoy is to go to level ten, but Auror Brall is to go to the level _ two _medical containment, sedated but never alone until the Imperius is confirmed as removed, understood? Fresh Aurors on guard... everyone on Team One is to go to the clinic in our department for a health check after the handover. Take the report forms home with you… we will debrief on Monday.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Auror Aakaya, send in the relief team to seize Malfoy Manor and report back in when the prisoner and our comrade are settled.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Team Two, report.”

“Minor injuries, no casualties.”

“Very good. Clinic, everyone. Healers and Curse-Breakers are waiting.”

“Yes, sir,” echoed all around him, and half the crowd made for the front gate.

“Team Three, report.”

“Minor injuries,” Yorkenson reported. He hadn’t stopped grinning since the last topiary fell, even with three red-ringed scratches marring his lips. “No casualties.”

“Perfect job,” Harry said, smiling at all of them.

“We have the job of taking in our culprit, here,” Harry said, resting one dirty boot on top of Draco’s back. “I’m thinking to take him in through the Floo. I heard there’s a crowd of people in the lobby who are _ dying _ to see us.”

Laughs, stifled coughs, and hesitant smiles surrounded him.

“Anyone who needs medical can and should go there now,” Harry continued seriously. “But there will likely be cheering and excitement and I could use a few Aurors willing to Shield civilians away from us as we return.”

“I’m in,” Jacobs said, smirking with teeth.

“Me too,” came another voice, then another, then a third.

“Alright, that’ll do us,” said Harry, grinning at the four volunteers. “I’m glad to be able to do this. He nearly succeeded in overthrowing our Minister tonight. We need to show, loud and proud, that any more attempts to destroy our government will not be tolerated. It’s the _ people’s vote _that decides our leaders.”

“Hear, hear!” Yorkensen cried, echoed in whispers by the two other team leaders with Communicators still on, and roars by the Aurors around him.

“Alright, Team Three. Clinic and Floo. Yorkenson, stay behind to brief the relief team, then you go too. Roll out!”

Harry Rennervated Draco right before going through the Floo.

“Wha’ duh _hell_, Podder,” he protested, fighting to break free of his binds. “Ged _ oud _ ov' 'by home!”

“Sure,” Harry agreed nonchalantly, tossing the powder down into the flames before dragging Draco bodily in. “Ministry of Magic, Lobby!”

Jacobs and another Auror — Harry thought her first name was Mindy, but wasn’t sure of the last name — had gone on ahead, and the small swarm of people who’d remained that entire duration were crowded around the edges of their glowing shields. Shrieking cheers and whistles along with the popping flash of wizarding cameras greeted them as soon as the Floo spat them out, Draco stumbling, still bound to the knees.

“Got him,” Harry said simply, grinning at the greater than average amount of redheads in the crowd.

“That’s our Harry!” a familiar voice cheered, and Harry sent a grin in its direction, knowing it was Ron. When the two other escorting Aurors successfully arrived through the Floo, they began Draco’s walk of shame towards the elevators.

“Mother is in custody,” Aakaya’s voice reported.

“Well done,” Harry sent back, cupping his hand around his mouth so his team would know he was talking on the Comm.

“Sorry folks, we can’t share the elevator,” Jacobs called out, shooing people away who looked as though they might try to jump in with them.

“Brall is contained,” Aakaya’s voice said next, voice tight and low.

“He’ll be alright,” Harry soothed.

“I know. It’s just —” The sound of her throat clearing came through and then she said no more.

“Target wrapped up with a bow, coming your way,” he said next, offering a subject change.

“Roger. Relief Team notified.”

“Excellent. We should have had them on the Comms.”

“Next time.” She already sounded like she was making a note of it too. Harry grinned at the thought.

“Level Nine,” Harry called out, and off they went. Robards, Kingsley, and Hermione were sitting in Conjured chairs near the elevator doors with a few Aurors scattered evenly throughout the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. Upon the opening of the elevator, they stood quickly, Vanishing their seats behind them.

“Good job, Auror Potter,” Robards commended, eyeing the dried blood on Draco’s face and neck with satisfaction.

Draco spat at Kingsley’s feet, and Hermione Vanished it with a silent wave of her wand. “Really,” she said, voice chiding.

“Fuck you, Mudblood,” Draco snarled. “Fuck you all.”

“Yes, very Ministerial,” commented Kingsley in a dry, dark tone. “I can see why the Wizengamot placed all their potions in _ your _ apothecary. To the dungeons, Auror Potter.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, grinning proudly as Draco struggled and yelled further invectives.

“_Wingardium leviosa_,” Harry chanted after their first few steps were an elaborate struggle with Draco digging in his heels and trying to launch his useless body at whoever was closest. Draco groaned within the spell’s hold; meant for objects, the spell greatly messed up the fluid in the inner ear.

Unfortunately, they made it down to the holding cells before Draco became dizzy enough to vomit, and Harry shoved him in, letting him fall flat on his back.

“Fuck you, Harry,” he said, using his ex’s first name for the first time since he’d visited Harry in the very cell he was currently residing. “You’ll get yours. You won't be able to run around catching Dark wizards forever. One of _ us _ is going to get you, one day.”

“And I’m sure you’ll take the credit,” Harry murmured, shaking his head over the way Draco had said ‘us.’ He wasn’t really a Dark wizard. He’d only used _ one _ Cruciatus that night, and that was the only thing he’d done that was truly Dark. Harry had hunted down wizards whose every breath had been filled with Blood-Letting or Entrail-Reversing Curses.

“You’ll go to Azkaban,” Harry told him with surety, undoing Draco's binds with a jab and flick of his wand so that he could scramble to his feet. “While you’re there, try to remember that it’s only because Kingsley Shacklebolt is Minister that there aren’t dementors there, snacking on your every pinch at happiness. Goodbye.”

Harry nodded at the Guard on duty as he left, Draco screaming terrible promises and cursing his name right up until the door shut between them.

Within the welcoming grasp of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry visited the unconscious Auror Brall and his guardians first, greeting and congratulating excited, patched-up members of the mission tonight as he went. After Brall came Robards, and Harry knocked on his closed door gently, unsure of his welcome.

“Come in,” Robards called.

Inside, the man was levitating his belongings into a box with an Expanded interior, and Harry shut the door quickly, horrified. “Sir, please don’t tell me —”

“Madame Tutala has stepped down as Head of our department,” Robards interrupted him smoothly. “I have been promoted in her place.”

A wide grin spread across Harry’s face, causing an injury of unknown origins on Harry’s cheek to ache. “Congratulations, sir.”

Robards eyed his expression with a look akin to exasperation. “Yes, yes,” he said dismissively. “You’ll be interested to know I’ve recommended you for the Head Auror position.”

Harry gaped, breath freezing in his lungs until they began to hurt. “What? But —”

“You’ll be the youngest Head Auror in history? Yes, you will. Youngest Head of the whole bloody Department too, in all likelihood.”

“But about the —”

“Loyalty Draughts?” Robards interrupted again. “Yes, that was a problem. However, we, as wizards, are not in the habit of blaming mind control victims… or have you not noticed how hard it is to convict someone who claims ‘Imperius?’”

“So… just like that, at twenty-four…?”

“Yes, Auror Potter.”

A smile slowly replaced his agog expression, and he looked from his dirt-covered hands to his boss — who was still his boss, but in a different role. “Thank you so much for this opportunity, sir.”

“Don’t thank me,” he scoffed, levitating more belongings into the box. “It’s hard work. But amongst all the Aurors I’ve worked with, instructed, and lead as their Head, you have the most talent in as many of the necessary skills as I’ve ever seen. I studied a copy of your case files while you were in custody, Harry,” he said, speaking informally in his sincerity. “Your attention to detail, the spellwork used to reveal any and all secrets the statues held and the absolutely _ thorough _ job you did reporting on every single statue — even though you’d found one-_hundred_-and-ninety-eight... I’m not sure there’s another Auror in our department who’d be willing to write that many Item Acquisition forms alone. I'm not sure _ I _ would.”

“I… thank you, sir.”

“I knew before you went out on the raid that I was to be promoted, and I waited to see how you handled the hunting of your ex, fresh off his Loyalty Draughts and love potions to recommend you. You didn’t know this, but I commandeered another Communicator, and listened to your leading. You led a team of forty-four Aurors and three cursebreakers with precision and foresight — letting one team go ahead while yours was stuck behind with a ‘yellow’ warning was truly a testament to your patience and responsibility in the field. Next time, punch the target _ before _ capturing him, but other than that, excellently done, all around.”

Harry grinned, a bit sheepish about that breach of protocol. “Yes, sir.”

Robards hefted the box and placed it on his desk. “Now, Head Auror Potter, be a good role model for your employees and head to the clinic, as you _should_ have already done. We’ll make the announcement on Monday morning. I’ve already sent those off-shift home.”

“Debrief is also on Monday.”

“Yes, I heard. Go on.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Congratulations, Harry.”

He looked back, smiling. “You too, sir.”

After the clinic came paperwork. He was bone tired and ready to collapse, but technically still supposed to be on-call until the end of the day, so he went to his cubicle to get a head start on his mission statement before the weekend came and took the details from the past twenty-four hours with it.

Above his desk flew a purple butterfly, and Harry smiled at it, knowing who it was from.

“Congratulations,” it said simply. Harry felt his mouth move into a pout, when a throat clearing behind him had him spinning, still on edge.

“At ease,” Robards said, unconcerned about the wand suddenly pointed at his chest.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry repented quickly, sheathing his wand.

“It’s to be expected,” the man said. “I’m going to insist you see the mind Healer by the end of next week, however.”

“Yes, sir. Was there something you forgot…?”

“Yes, actually.” Robards hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “It’s about Mr. Riddle… whom by now I gather you’ve known as ‘Tom’ for a bit longer than you had indicated.”

Harry felt his lips tip over into a smirk, and shrugged. “I did tell you I was concerned about his reputation,” he said.

“Yes,” Robards replied drily, making Harry stifle a laugh. “I can’t come down too hard on you, because I hid the fact that he has become a good friend of my family’s over the years… not just another coworker I provide guards for. I thought I should tell you, given your previously stated worries, that he seemed… unusually restless when he inquired about your health. And he defended you in the courtroom more passionately than I’ve ever seen of him with another who needed it. Whatever had you angry enough at him to want to turn down a promotion as his protection detail, at least know that he seems quite genuinely concerned about your well-being.”

Harry ducked his head, smiling at his feet for a moment. “That’s very kind of you to say, sir… especially with how difficult it must be for you to talk about feelings.”

“Oh, you.” Robards griped. “Go home whenever you’ve finished with what you’re doing, there.”

“Yes, sir.”

With Robards gone, he looked at the lackluster note in his hand again, only to find the writing had changed while he wasn’t looking. Greedily, his eyes read:

“Harry,

“There’s no way I could have stayed and not embarrassed the both of us upon your safe return. When you’re done being responsible and taking care of your job instead of yourself, come find me in my office.

“Tom”

Harry grinned, and rushed to begin writing down his mission report, far more motivated than before to complete it quickly.

“Knock, knock,” he called while rapping on Tom’s door.

Tom’s head snapped up, and he was up out of his seat, still holding onto his quill and the paper he’d been writing on as if he’d forgotten they were in his hands. Shaking himself slightly, he set them down and then rounded the desk.

“Shut the door.”

Harry obeyed, suppressing the giddy smile that kept trying to erupt on his face.

“Don’t,” Tom whispered as he came close, bringing two hands up to cradle Harry’s jaw, his thumbs sliding over to touch Harry’s flattened lips. Harry closed his eyes briefly, feeling the familiar hold in a completely new way, and then looked to Tom, letting his smile free. “I have wanted to do this ever since we were separated,” Tom admitted, before capturing Harry’s mouth in a kiss.

It was the same, and yet so different. Heat curled and danced throughout his core as Tom’s lips and tongue pressed against his own as expected, but there was also another sort of need... one that felt like it came from his soul, pressing upon him to hold Tom closer, and never let go again. An urge to protect him... to help his dreams become reality.

“I love you,” he gasped as their lips parted, an almost surprised type of wonder filling his voice.

Tom’s forehead came to rest against his, the man’s eye pressed tightly closed. “You do?” was uttered finally, fearfully.

“Yeah,” Harry said, confused. “Isn’t it a bit quick?”

Tom laughed, pulling his face away to spare Harry’s ears, before returning to press a quick kiss to Harry’s mouth. “I’ll take it,” he said, his own mouth stretched wide in a smile.

“I’m Head Auror now,” Harry told him, grinning again. “Or I will be, Monday.”

“I thought he would choose you.”

“You knew Tutala resigned?”

“I was there when she did,” he agreed, shaking his head slightly. “Unknowingly abetting the formation of a coup… even if Kingsley had intended on forgiving her — which I hope he wouldn't — she would have been disgraced for the rest of her tenure here.”

“That’s true,” Harry said, mouth twisting in sympathy. “She wasn’t the best possible boss, but I know she didn’t want that.”

Tom hummed, pulling Harry close. “I heard you paraded Malfoy around the lobby, trussed up like a Christmas ham on your way back. I approve.”

“I thought you would,” Harry said, reveling in the light, bubbling happiness flooding through him at Tom’s nearness. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

Tom squeezed him. “What, love?” he asked, forcibly nonchalant. “Weird feeling, isn’t it?”

Harry pulled him in for another kiss, then let his head drop to Tom’s shoulder when it became too much, when he thought he might explode. “I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

“I figured it out later,” Tom said, shrugging, but his body had tensed against Harry’s and he couldn’t hide that from the Auror.

“I hated it,” Harry whispered. “I should have realized something was off with me then. I couldn’t even say I was _ in _ love with you. The words just wouldn’t come out and all I could say was ‘sorry.’”

“You could make it up to me?”

“Oh?” Harry inquired, perking up as his mind went to naughty places.

“Call me by the pet name you wanted to say, then, now.”

Harry colored. “Right now? No… letting it drop naturally in the heat of the moment?”

Tom hesitated. “I would have thought it would be difficult for you to _have_ a heat of the moment for a while…”

Harry cleared his throat, face heating further. “You could… kiss it and make it better.”

He nearly swallowed his own tongue, embarrassed by his own audacity. But Tom just looked searchingly at his face before a slow grin spread. “Yes, I’ll do that,” he agreed firmly, tugging Harry over to the large fireplace towards the back.

“Now?” Harry asked, though he stepped obediently where he was led.

“I need to finish up here… another ten to fifteen minutes to get everyone settled,” Tom said, rather optimistically, Harry thought, given the international fallout there was sure to be after their middle-of-the-night adventures. “The Floo address to my home is Riddle Manor. The master bedroom is up the center stairs and to the right, the last door. Will you go get cleaned up and wait for me?”

“A manor, huh?” Harry noted, grimacing.

“It’s nearly entirely Muggle,” Tom reassured, understanding. “And I live there alone; the gardener has his own house on grounds and the cleaning staff only comes twice a week too, so…”

“Yeah,” Harry said, unable to say no when he felt so good making Tom smile hopefully like that. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” Tom said, a grin stealing across his face as well. He leaned in and kissed Harry thoroughly. “I’m happy,” he whispered when they parted.

“Yeah, me too,” Harry said, feeling a bit embarrassed. He cleared his throat. “I’ll go now.”

“Alright,” Tom said, watching him, clearly amused by his sudden bashfulness.

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, grabbing a good pinch of Floo powder.

“I love you, Harry,” Tom called before he threw it down.

“I — er — love you too,” Harry replied, wincing after he was done and then throwing the powder down. “Riddle Manor!” he called out as Tom laughed at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the brief pause there.
> 
> Apparently divorce is like... super painful. Who knew?


	17. Chapter 17

# Chapter Seventeen

* * *

* * *

The interior of Riddle Manor was elegant, and like Tom had said, extremely Muggle.

It wasn’t dark like Malfoy Manor, nor as creepy. Large windows let in light, and as Harry walked from room to room he heard the click of Muggle motion sensors turning on and off lights as he moved from sitting room to hallway, to front entry, up the grand staircase and to the right, as directed. The master bedroom was dominated by a large, darkly-lacquered bed covered with — surprise — a puffy, Slytherin green comforter and crisp white sheets. Harry looked at it longingly before turning to the partially open door through which copious amounts of natural light was spilling forth onto the glistening silk rugs.

The bathroom was done up in black-veined white marble and the kind of gold-and-crystal fixtures that his Aunt Petunia had tried to replicate in her own home with molded plastic and brass plating. The bathtub was huge, with _jets_, and Harry cast it the same look he’d given the bed before disrobing out of his slashed-up Auror uniform in front of the shower, his Cloak folded to the side. He didn’t know how long he’d have before Tom got back, after all, and he didn’t want the man to wait on him while he played in the tub.

The shower was stocked with expensive looking glass and ceramic bottles — no plastic in sight, even though the shampoo that he’d located foamed up just like Muggle stuff did, and didn’t sizzle and pop the way Cleansing Tonic tended to. Tom even had a body brush with a long, carved handle that Harry gleefully used to scratch all the parts of his back he normally couldn’t reach.

“This is too much luxury for me,” Harry groaned, pulling a huge fluffy towel around his shoulders so he could snuggle his face into it. If he'd known where to get towels like these, he thought, he might have used a bit more of his practically-untouched Gringotts inheritance. Hanging it back up on the rack, he resolved to ask Tom where to find them as soon as it was socially appropriate.

He listened intently for footsteps inside the house before he crept naked across the bedroom. It would be just his luck that right at that moment the gardener would check on the noises he'd made in the house... but the manor remained silent even after he jumped into the bed, under the covers.

From there he looked around, eyes landing on Muggle photos of Tom and his father, and then one that moved. The black and white photo looped a scene of Tom's father (a near perfect lookalike, no one could blame Harry for drooling a little) ruffling a young Tom's hair and tugging him into his arms to smack a kiss on top of his head. In retaliation, teenaged Tom pulled away, distraught over his now-imperfect hair. Smiling, Harry summoned the picture to get a closer look and to run the pad of his finger over young Tom's brow where he saw genuine anger underneath the bluster. Merlin knew he'd felt the same way at that age… under attack socially by the pureblood-controlled ministry and physically by extremists and their children… it was a rough age to be under such pressure.

Harry laid back in the down-stuffed pillows, watching the photo loop until his eyes no longer opened after his blinks and his hands sank limply to his chest in sleep.

_'Creak.'_

Harry had his wand in hand and pointed at the intruder before he'd even opened his eyes. When his vision focused, he could see Tom, frozen mid-sneak to the bathroom and blinking at him. Dim light struggled through gaps in the drapes; it must have been close to nightfall.

"Oh," Harry said, feeling stupid, hand dropping.

"Excellent reflexes," Tom commended, changing course to sit on the edge of the bed next to Harry, now that he was clearly awake.

"I feel asleep," Harry said, just realizing it.

"With entertainment," Tom noticed, picking up the picture frame, lips pursing as he looked down at it. "I was such a little shit back then."

"We were all little shits at that age. It's great that he loved you so much," Harry diverted, rolling over into his side so that he could cuddle up against Tom's hips with his stomach and thighs. Tom's hand drifted to rest on the curve of Harry's waist, an idle gesture as he set the photo frame on the bedside table, then took something from his pocket.

“My father never married," Tom said after a moment more of staring at his father, "or had any more children. I've always felt that he had difficulty trusting women again… or perhaps it was that after having been on Amortentia for months, he no longer trusted himself with the feelings any sort of prolonged romance would have brought up in him. In any case… it was just him and me, his entire life."

Tom faced him again, and Harry took in the difficult expression on his face with some concern.

“He passed away, six years ago. Muggles don’t live very long at all… but he wasn’t interested in forever, anyway.”

Tom took Harry’s hand. “But I am,” he said, pressing something small and hard into Harry’s palm. Harry knew before looking down and confirming that it was a ring, and swallowed nervously.

“Um, Tom, look… I really like you, _ love _ you, even, but we’ve only been civil for four days now and I’m just not ready for this huge of a commitment, already.”

Tom frowned, clearly confused, before looking down at the ring and raising his eyebrows in apparent realization. “Okay,” he managed, before interrupting himself with laughter so loud that Harry frowned and then cautiously smiled back in turns as he tried to figure out whether it was in friendly humor or not.

“Haha,” Tom chortled still, after having opened his mouth to speak again and failing. “First thing: it’s been _ five _ days, not four, and it’s not an _ engagement ring_,” Tom said, giving a choked cough when it seemed he might erupt into laughter once again. “Look at it.”

Harry picked the ring up in his fingers and held it closer. It was silver, with a thick, unbroken ring of dark red inset into the band — and as Harry watched, the color there shifted, sparkling with hidden depths and shadows, just like Tom's eyes did at times.

“What is it?” Harry asked, wondering.

“The secret to my youthful good looks,” Tom said humorously. “It is a carved piece of Philosopher’s Stone… to date my life’s greatest achievement.”

“You figured out the alchemy?” Harry asked, more than intimidated by the sheer intelligence it would have taken.

“Yes,” Tom replied, taking the ring back. “It helped to know that the discoverer of the seven different uses for dragon's blood was the apprentice of the original creator. That gave me the base... Flamel's seemingly disconnected _other_ findings during that time helped me figure out what other ingredients he had been working with. Even with the head start it took fifteen years to get _this_.

"This is just a small amount of the Stone I made. Like I said, my dad wasn’t interested in the idea of forever but I was. Am. Maybe one day will come when I’m not afraid to go on to ‘the next great adventure,’ — as Dumbledore always went on about it when he saw me, not aging — but that day is not today, and it likely won't be tomorrow either.”

“My father told me in the last months of his life that being afraid to trust someone — that one person everyone needs — hadn’t been worth it. He told me to not become like him. I made this ring that very night, and have held onto it ever since… seven years ago at this point — a lucky number.”

He gave it back to Harry. “You don’t have to wear it on your finger, though I would ask _ if _ you accept it, you keep it close, considering its value and the extreme likelihood that someone would use it for nefarious purposes.”

Harry’s hands closed around it. “You’re giving this to me to show you trust me?”

Tom looked away. “Maybe to show myself,” he said. “Or to show my dad that I was able to do as he hoped… if he could even see me giving it to you.”

“He can,” Harry murmured, inspecting the glimmering Stone again. “I died for a little while during the war. They didn’t let me go inside, but there’s something else. More life, after. And they could see everything.”

Tom looked like he had a million questions but also was too afraid to ask any of them. “That’s… interesting,” he said slowly. “I’m sure it’ll be a relief to know. Eventually. Are you accepting the ring?”

Harry smiled. “Yeah, I am. I could wear it on a cord around my neck or something.”

“Or something,” Tom agreed, lip rising at the thought of his craftsmanship on a ‘cord.’ Harry laughed at him, curling his body tighter around Tom's hips.

Tom smiled right back at him, carding his hand through Harry’s hair. “I’m going to get cleaned up, and then I’ll join you in bed,” he said, eyes warm. “You go back to sleep, we both need it after all we've been through.”

“Mmkay,” Harry said, shifting up onto his elbow to demand a kiss. Tom granted him one, then stood, settling the covers over Harry and then gifting him another kiss on his forehead. “S’nice.”

“Good,” Tom murmured into his hair. 

“Will you keep my ring safe for me until I get something Unbreakable to put it on?”

“Of course, thank you for taking care of it.”

“Should thank _ you_,” Harry argued, digging himself more comfortably into the pillows. “You gave it to me.” 

“Get rest, darling. Goodnight.”

“'Night.”

The bed shifted behind Harry as Tom, smelling deliciously clean, slid into bed behind him.

“Oh, you’re _ naked_,” Tom realized, spooning behind Harry with an undershirt and boxers on. “That’s going to be fun in the morning.”

“Better be,” Harry mumbled, pulling Tom’s arm over his belly and chest like a teddy bear and snuggling with it.

Neither of them were used to sleeping while physically touching another person, so they woke up several times in the night, shifting positions and exchanging sleepy kisses a time or two before drifting back off again, tired but content to stay where they were. It was a lot of interrupted sleep, but when Harry woke the final time to a still-dark room and Tom’s hand lazily stroking his back, he was glad they had been stubborn and stuck it out together.

“Good morning,” Tom said warmly as Harry lifted his head to look up at him.

“Hi,” Harry said, then hid a yawn in Tom’s armpit. “This is nice,” he commented, moving up a little ways to tuck his head into Tom’s neck and breathe in the smell of his skin. "Time is it?"

“Almost five. You aren’t grumpy from being awake half the night?”

“Definitely worth it,” Harry said, yawning again. “I know couples who sleep together every night… it must get easier.”

“Hmm.” That hand went a little lower on the next stroke down his back, and Harry’s toes curled in anticipation as it grazed between his cheeks. “Yeah?” Tom breathed.

Harry grinned into Tom’s neck. He hadn’t felt this much unfettered excitement about sex in — years. Well before Draco came. Maybe ever. He felt safe and loved and he wanted sex. Did that combination ever exist for him, before?

“I believe an offer was made yesterday…”

Tom slid down until their heads were even. “There was,” he agreed, voice deepening, fingers still questing towards Harry’s sensitive places.

"Better use the spell, first," Harry warned. "It's been all night."

"True." After some shifting and grunting on Tom's side of the bed he returned with wand in hand. As the Intimate Cleansing Charm chilled his bottom Tom pressed him back into the bed, not kissing him just yet.

"Need an embossed invitation?" Harry sassed after a moment, slipping his arms around Tom's neck. "I know just where to get them, now, you know."

Tom's face twisted. "He's not allowed between us," he reminded Harry, who bit his lip.

"Habit," he admitted, also grimacing. "The compulsion to bring him up…"

"You're fine," Tom said, bending his head to nuzzle Harry's cheek. "You'll work on reversing the habit, and I'll work on understanding where it comes from."

"You shouldn't have to —"

"Compromise," Tom interrupted. "I've heard numerous times over my seventy years that it is the foundation for a successful relationship — not that '_not getting angry_' is an actual achievement."

"Is that what compromise is?" Harry asked, brow wrinkling. It felt more like Harry was getting away with being rude. Compromise with Draco had never resulted in Harry feeling like he'd beem granted a reprieve.

"You should know, you're about to become a lot of Aurors' boss," Tom said firmly, even as he ran his hands down Harry's sides and thighs.

"Hmm, maybe the lecture about leadership can come later? I'd like sex, now, if you please," Harry ground out, fidgeting under the caress.

"You read my mind," Tom murmured, ghosting his mouth over Harry's and pulling back, grinning when the lips under his surged up, seeking firmer contact. His travelling hands hooked behind Harry's knees and tugged them up, then he raised himself to take in the view as he spread Harry wider. "So gorgeous, look at you."

"I'd rather look at you," Harry mumbled, uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

"If you're impatient, darling, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. I've finally got you naked and in my bed — I've made extensive plans."

"You could be naked _ with _ me in your bed, you know," Harry offered, plucking at Tom's shirt sleeve. His cock was filling slowly, an unhurried kind of arousal filling his veins that was new, but incredibly appealing.

Tom ran his thumb over a neat, slice-shaped scar on Harry's side. “And if my scars aren’t as aesthetically pleasing as yours?”

Harry pushed up for real, then, taking Tom down in a smooth turnover that ended with Harry straddling his hips and his hands holding Tom’s to the bed. The trapped man's eyes glittered and his lips thinned; it was clear he didn’t enjoy that sort of manhandling the way Harry did.

“Do you honestly think I would be disgusted by a part of you that was less than perfect?” Harry asked, incredulous. He saw the truth in the lines of his lover’s face and sighed. Then he looked to his hands on Tom’s wrists. “If I told you to keep them there, would you?”

“No,” Tom said, smirking, eyes still hard.

“Didn’t think so,” Harry said, aggrieved. “What if I asked, pretty, pretty please,” Harry murmured, running his lips over Tom’s cheek and then sitting back, trying his best puppy-eyes expression.

Tom simply raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re being frustrating on purpose,” Harry accused.

“I have been known to have issues with people exerting authority over me,” Tom agreed, grinning, but his forehead creased with genuine discomfort.

“Alright,” Harry said, rolling back off into a perch next to him, grinning despite the serious turn of conversation. “Your bed is fun to do tumbles on.”

Tom rolled his eyes, giving a soft grunt as he rolled less acrobatically off the other side of the bed. Harry had only one moment to wonder if he had scared the man away entirely before Tom's glowing-white undershirt was removed in a single, swift motion Harry found _ very _ sexy.

In the next moment, however, his breath seized in his lungs at the sight of the large, pink knot of scar tissue with long, spidery veins of damage stretching in a wide circle across the side of Tom’s abdomen.

“Oh, Tom,” Harry whispered, struck. He crawled across the bed and reached out a hand, watching Tom’s stomach twitch in apprehension of Harry’s touch. “What did this to you, and is the bastard dead yet?”

Tom’s belly retracted with a huff of laughter. “Did you know there used to be a basilisk underneath the school?”

Harry frowned, for a moment uncomprehending. “Under… _ Hogwarts_?”

Tom’s finger’s skated over Harry’s where they laid over the smooth blob of scar tissue in the middle. “It’s dead now.”

Harry’s voice came out hushed, worried. “How did you survive this?”

“I didn’t know what I would find inside the Chamber — the Chamber of Secrets, made by Salazar Slytherin — so I packed enough medicines and antidotes in my bag to counter everything I could think of. I managed to cobble together a way to slow the spread of venom until I could be transported to St. Mungos. I nearly died anyway, even with all that I'd done.”

“This is messing me up,” Harry confessed, resting his hand on Tom’s hip and stroking the angry marks fanning downwards from the scar with his thumb. “I’m so fucking glad you didn’t die.”

He pulled Tom in, resting his head on the tangled lines while Tom’s hand tentatively combed messy black hair back from his forehead, trailing a finger over Harry’s own disfigurement before sliding down and lifting his chin.

“Alright?” Tom asked, peering down.

“Yeah.”

“There’s another one.”

Tom pulled back and lowered his boxers. There, like a teardrop torn inwards from his hip (as if a giant tooth had landed on the hipbone and then slid inwards into the meat of his pelvis, Harry realized, sickened) was an undeniably uglier version of the scar above, the root-like scars reaching out much further from the center to wrap around Tom’s ass, his thigh, cutting through his pubic hair to create angry lines over and around his flaccidity.

With them both displayed, it was easy to see them as a positively _ humongous _ snake bite. Harry couldn't imagine the kind of fear or pain such a thing would have caused at the time.

“Oh, my one,” Harry breathed, distraught.

Tom’s fingers glid under Harry’s eyes, collecting the tiny, unformed wetness from his lashes.

“Love is weird,” he decided, looking at the shine on his fingertips. “How does my fear or your melancholy help perpetuate the species?”

Harry didn’t laugh, but it was a close thing. Tom actually sounded serious. Instead he reached up to Tom’s neck and pulled him down, breath hitching at the first contact of skin on beloved skin. “How does being exclusively attracted to your own sex help? Because I am, by the way. Still very interested in you. Love with you. Sex with you. All good.”

Tom huffed, but Harry felt the relaxation in his shoulders and hips that spoke leagues about the affect Harry’s casual words of acceptance had on him. “I did make a promise, and it’s been _ so _ many hours since…”

Harry hummed, touching whatever part of Tom he could reach... soft, smooth skin and textured, damaged flesh alike. “True.”

“And I made another promise to myself,” Tom continued, a bit of a growl entering his voice.

“Oh?” Harry asked, breathless as Tom hauled him across the bed so both their bodies could stretch out across the mattress. Oh, yes, he did love some good manhandling.

“Yess,” Tom answered, the word hissing out in a way that sent shivers of luscious foreboding down Harry’s spine. His hand slid between the bed and Harry’s back and Harry arched his stomach into the body on top of him, giving Tom room to smoothly glide it down, rolling his hips to allow those fingers to grip onto his ass, spreading him apart and then finding Harry’s spell-cleaned pucker.

“Great teamwork,” Tom whispered, smiling into Harry’s skin as he shifted down the bed, paying a brief moment’s attention to the nipple that appeared near his mouth before moving lower, his fingers marking the spot he was heading towards.

“Was kinda sexy,” Harry agreed, voice thinning as his excitement grew. “Moving together.”

“Let’s move together a bit more,” Tom spoke into his belly button darkly, flicking out a tongue afterwards. “Turn over for me, my darling.”

“Oh, fuck,” Harry groaned, complying immediately.

“On your knees, hold onto the headboard,” Tom ordered next.

“Er — oh?” Harry said, hesitating, movements unsure when he walked on his knees up to the front of the bed.

But Tom, smirking and smug, turned over and kept pace with him, sliding his body in tempo with Harry’s movements until they reached the top of the bed. He looked down into Tom's upturned face, who appeared pleased with himself and far too handsome to be doing what Harry thought he might be doing as he rested on the bed between Harry's calves.

“Now sit,” Tom instructed, hands rising to cup his hips encouragingly.

“Are you sure?” Harry breathed, skeptically. “My balls will be in your face.”

Tom looked like he might laugh. “No better place for them, really. Come down, Harry.”

Concerned for Tom’s comfort, he lowered himself slowly, shifting his legs around until he could hold himself several centimeters above Tom’s mouth, thinking the man would lift his head and control everything from there.

“Foolish boy,” Tom muttered, fingers digging in and pulling Harry down to sit more firmly on his face.

"J-just want you to breathe," Harry stuttered, affected already by the warmth flattening itself over his sensitive entrance.

"What a nice thing to say," Tom purred.

Harry laughed, the sound shallow and broken into shuddering sections as Tom worked him over, the motions of his tongue meticulous as it stroked, poked, dug, and soothed Harry into a gibbering mess.

What a picture he must be making, Harry thought, but he couldn't bring himself to worry over the way he was digging his forehead into his arms, shuddering drunkenly over the headboard, all decency forgotten as he rocked against Tom's face because _ Tom _ was there too, flushed and desirous underneath him, but entirely in control of himself as he groaned encouragements in response to every noise Harry made.

"Tom," he begged. "Want — _ more_..."

"You're so soft here, now," Tom told him, words low and heavily intimate as he mouthed them into Harry's tender flesh. "And so delicious. I don't want to leave."

"Nngh, _ ready_," Harry insisted, letting loose a cry as Tom's tongue fucked into him suddenly, deeper than he'd been delving before.

"I love the way you look right now," Tom growled, disappearing from between his legs and then abruptly pulling Harry to fall backwards onto the sheets. Harry was alone for the barest second before Tom was back, pressing light kisses across the light scratches and starbursts peppering his skin as oil-slicked fingers found their way to his entrance.

"That's it," Harry praised as a thick finger easily slid home, but then it hooked around Harry's thick ring of muscle and tugged it open. "Ah," he gasped. The pulling was a new sensation, and a bit on the uncomfortable side, but as Tom rotated his hand and pushed into Harry's prostate at the same time, he quickly gave up minding.

Tom chuckled into his thigh as he inserted another finger — another _ thumb_, Harry realized as this one also curved and tugged at his rim, stretching him in the opposite direction — and Harry wailed at the strain (which was beginning to feel so, so lovely) as it doubled.

“Tom, _ please_, I’m ready, just put it in,” Harry begged, back arching as he fucked himself on Tom’s thumbs.

“No,” Tom breathed into his skin.

“_Tom_,” Harry whined, desperate.

“I will fuck you open another time, darling. Right now I need to know that you’ll feel pleasure and nothing else _ at all _ from my cock.”

“I _ will_,” Harry cried, fisting his hands into the sheets, pulling himself down harder on Tom’s too-gentle hands. “_Please_.”

“I can’t,” Tom denied quietly, his eyes absorbing Harry’s need with a greedy alertness.

Harry laughed brokenly. “What was it… it’s the same as a couple of — _ oh _ — fingers, really.”

“Not this time, Harry.”

He groaned even as some uncertain part of him finally eased at the unflexing intentions of his lover.

“Yes,” Tom encouraged, licking his lips, watching the line of Harry’s body collapse by measures into the pillowtop, giving himself over to Tom's wishes. "Fuck, darling, you are _ every_thing, right now."

Harry threw an arm over his eyes, flexing around Tom's thumbs in response to the praise. "Sweet talker."

"I know something else that's sweet…" Tom teased, licking Harry's inner thigh.

"Would you just fuck me already?" Harry grumbled into his elbow after another few minutes of torture.

Tom relaxed the aching massage of his thumbs, before giving a slow, testing tug on one side.

"Yes."

Harry's arm came away from his face. "Really?"

Tom smirked at the bald excitement in his voice and fetched his wand again. "Really."

"Should I turn over?"

Tom laid over him, pressing him down into the mattress, giving him all the answer he needed as he blanketed every part of Harry’s body in warmth.

"I made a promise to myself darling," he whispered into Harry's ear as he pulled Harry's legs up around his waist, losing his hips into position in the process.

"I promised myself as I watched you bleed onto my fingers that if I was ever given the chance I'd show you _ exactly _ what was being held back from you. That I would do the opposite of what was done to you and make love to _ this _ —" 

The thick head of Tom's dick pressed into him, and Harry gasped quietly, having been completely entranced by Tom's intimate words. 

"— _ perfect _ part of you," he finished, gripping Harry's shoulders as he pushed further in, the electric, pain-free slide of it making Harry keen softly, drawing his legs further up to Tom's ribs for an even deeper connection.

"Oh, God," Harry cried as Tom drew back and thrust back in. Harry adored the stretch and burn of normal sex — the kind he'd had _ before _ Draco, and with Tom previously — but without the harder edge to distract from the sensations, pleasure sang through his blood so very sweetly. It was almost _ too much _ of a good thing, overwhelming without the hint of pain to buffer it.

"You feel so good," Tom told him, kissing along the edge of his gasping mouth. "You are perfect. _ This _ is perfect," he said with another, harder thrust into his hole. "So hot and good around me…"

"It's so _ much_." Harry rocked up into Tom's movements, throwing his head back into the mattress and shoving himself harder onto Tom's cock, limbs twitching with a pure, painless flavor of overstimulation but wanting more anyway.

Their combined breaths filled the air for a little while, and for a few seconds Harry held his, pulling Tom's head close to his ear and listening to his lover's quieter, but no less impassioned sounds of pleasure as they danced. Everything was perfect: Tom's hot skin turning damp under his fingers, the pulse of his cock sending waves of pure ecstasy through Harry's veins, the wet, repetitive squelch of their bodies coming together that finally inspired Harry to let go and moan out his own noises of enjoyment too.

"You're beautiful," Tom whispered, his voice broadcasting just how strongly affected he was by what they were doing. His hand — slick, again — curled around Harry's neglected hardness and the increase in stimulation cut off the mindless _ 'you too,' _ that Harry'd been about to babble.

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen, fucked out by my cock. My hands. My mouth."

"Oh, shit," Harry breathed, squirming. It wouldn't be much longer, he realized, need and excitement making him pull Tom down into himself, harder and harder.

"I want to see you come," Tom continued, pressing forehead to forehead with the man underneath him. "I want to see it all over your face and know _ I've _ put it there. Will you come for me Harry?"

"_Yes_," Harry moaned, feeling the tightening in his belly and sharp uptick of urgency that heralded the end.

"Hold onto me," Tom urged, voice tight. "Let me feel you go."

"Oh, _ God_," Harry cried, body tensing all over as overwhelming sweetness took him over. "I'm gonna die," he moaned, squeezing bruises into Tom's forearms.

Tom's movements became uneven as he grunted out an aborted laugh, and Harry realized with a shock of arousal that_ Tom was coming at the same time_. He opened his eyes through the last waves of his cum striping their stomachs to see Tom's angrily knitted brow and tightly clenched eyes — the opposite to how Draco had said Harry looked, but absolutely incredible to behold. Tom looked like he was fighting for his life, whereas Harry always felt like he was giving up his. Through the intense connection Harry had felt with Tom during their lovemaking... it seemed only right that they would mirror each other in that way.

When Tom collapsed, an emotional Harry held him close with arms and legs for a few seconds before they both rolled to their sides to recover, face to face.

"Wow," Harry said finally.

Tom chuckled. "Did I fulfill my promise, my dear?" he asked, stroking a finger through Harry's semen on his stomach and letting it stretch between two fingers.

"Just about," Harry said, still stunned. "We'll still have — you know, normal _ rougher _ sex too, right?"

"Sure," Tom replied easily. If they hadn't both just come, Harry might have thought he was even doing that sexy 'purr' voice again. "We can save the extensive foreplay for special dates... like our anniversary."

Harry frowned. They'd_ just _ gotten together. They weren't even _ truly _ official yet, were they? So did that mean Harry'd have to wait a full year _ or more _ before feeling that way again?

"And Valentine's," he said, thinking that another two weeks was a good time frame to wait for something that overwhelming.

"Alright," Tom allowed, rolling off the bed.

But then after February... all the way to next year…?

"And my birthday," Harry requested next, still frowning over the issue.

"Definitely," Tom agreed, heading for the bathroom.

"And Christmas," Harry put in quickly before Tom could go out of sight. "And your birthday! And New Year's!"

Tom's laughter left the room with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special occasion sex <3<3<3
> 
> Editing this chapter was hard. I didn't want to edit such lovey dovey 'we're alive' smashing. But I did it <3 
> 
> See you... probably in a week. Thanks for sticking around <3


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